Beyonce's 'Love on Top' started booming from next door. I kept on seeing your name. Damnit, why must you have such a Biblical name that I have to undergo the pain of hearing it for the past early morning masses. I'm working on a fuck-what-may energy burst here. Heck. I dropped down a book during its climax building part. I have to prevent myself from opening another tab, lest I want to get distracted from writing these things down.
I don't know what ushered me to this position. Several things. Multi-factorial, so they say. I have been on a writer's block for several weeks now. Failed attempts for well-meaning posts look at me with dismayed eyes in my 'Drafts' section. Apparently, what seems to be "worth" publishing are those whose drive came from something deep. Somewhere innate. Something primitive and raw. And this is one of those posts. A sudden urge snapped by a rather provocative music and obsessive thought. Now a compulsion has led me into writing what I may have feeling.
Hyperemesis gravidarum. Not your regular vomiting for would-be-mothers. Not your regular brain vomit here, too. See, it's all stuck up in there. Needing release. Asking for liberation. Wanting freedom. But I just can't. I was able to keep these raging ideas under check. Fuck, I was able to sedate it for her but, unknowingly, why can't I do the same for you?
You were a no one. Our paths would have never crossed if not for that single tick that has set everything in motion. The cogs and wheels are now in motion. I don't know how to bar this stupid thing from keeping on moving. I want to strike it dead with all the force of the earth but I just can't. Something seemingly deep within me tells me not to do such a foolish act.
Three minutes. Wow. That is a lot of sick to clean up.
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