why am i the only one around here
why do i feel so distracted
why is it all crumbling under my legs
why do i even do what i do
why am i writing this right now
why am i different
why do i feel like not myself
why is speaking english so relaxing and purifing
why do i fear getting this blog discovered
why is it even a thing
why are there so many why's
why can't i talk so honestly in polish
why do i have so many thoughts
why do i even exist in the first place
why do i feel so empty
why am i so alienated
even though i'm not
why do i even care
do i?
why are so many thought colliding with each other
why am i so
fuck, i can't find a proper word
why do i feel like shit even though my life is pretty good
why am i so ungrateful
why can't nobody love me
why can't nobody see me
like
myself
why do i even try writing anything
even though i can't
like
many other things
why am i going to public this
nobody's gonna see it anyways
why am i grateful for that
or am i
why do i long for others to see this
why is it written in english
why do i feel even freer talking in english
why am i so negative
for myself
and for others
is it me
or not
why can't i find any desire to write a book anymore
why am i so selfless
or selfish
i dunno
why can't i find any answers
maybe it's because of me
why writing like this makes me feel comfortable
even though it isn't
why do i feel so unfulfilled
why can't i talk
in english
in polish
in any
fucking
language
why do i even write this even though i don't feel depressed
maybe just to supress my brain
from thinking
why do i love someone
even though i don't
why do i even think that i love someone
because that's so untrue
why is it becoming less and less longer
why does it feel like some emo kid's writing his depressive thoughts
i'm not so depressed after all
why do i feel like nothing's gonna change
why do i feel like those holidays will be shitty
or do i
i dunno
i don't want to publish this
even though i do
czemu nagle chcę pisać po polsku
mimo, że nie chcę
czemu pisząc po polsku, idzie mi to coraz gorzej
wylewanie moich myśli na papier
papier - elektroniczny
przenoszenie ich na ekran
why do i even spend so much time at home
even though it makes me depressed
and sad
sometimes
why is going out with friends so fun
and i don't even do it
am i a masochist
i can't be
i do really hope that nobody's gonna see it
probably i will just forget about it
and one day
it will just pop out from somewhere
and i will just think about how stupid i used to be
why do i feel like god's not a thing
why can't i stop writing these stupid thoughts
i could just go on and on
without stopping
even though it's all just shit
it's not even a poem
it's not even anything somebody would want to read
maybe it's just for me
my salvation
why do i feel like writing a book
and at the same time not having any desire to do so
i'm not going to read any of this right now anyways
hello, me who-knows-how-old
i dunno if i really want myself to read it in the future
but it would be fun
wouldn't it?
how to end this never-stopping cycle of questions
without answers
maybe there is no need for a proper ending
maybe i can just end it without saying
just like that
