Crumble
I don’t like my current brain.
There’s something funny about it. Something strange. It makes everything feels too real, too serious, plain, boring, mature. It thinks about thinking, feeling, and other real life stuffs. That’s why it’s harder to write nowadays. I view my reader as people with thoughts, emotions, etc. I used to see them as a superhugespongewhichabsorbeverything.
My brain used to make me display a vicious smiles, speaking words, colorful images. It used to make me think backward, stand awkwardly, and laugh dramatically. Now it just does normal people stuff.
I want to do strange things.
Like sitting alone in the corner making private conversation with my imaginary friends
Or making poetry about a dog who has an autism and fall in love with an elephant
Or this.
Yes. This.
Hello, sponge.