Beckoning

I write because I need.

I bury myself in an everlasting current of human curated media.
I hope to feel. to absorb. to understand. to appreciate an emotion that speaks to that which is burning in my soul.
Full sensory immersion. Constantly swimming through the tide of consumerism. Hoping to hear that which resonates so deeply in my core.

But I can't.
It's never good enough.
Nothing can come quite close.
Nothing is right.

Some whisper.

some imply

some hint

but none

know.

So I must.

I have to voice.

I know no rest until, I am empty of bubbling. Empty of constant barrage of concept. thought. simple statement relates me to...

maybe nothing.

But I cannot be silent.

Not anymore.