Derailed

Test tomorrow. Three weeks to look at the study guide and I've lost it without even taking a peek. Why? Because I sit at home, on my lazy backside, singing and dancing and prancing without a care in the world. And I'm writing and typing with the clickity clack like a train down the tracks  

from my thoughts 

to my heart 

to the page. 

Derailed. 

And all of this art. It's like some sort of anarchy, a rebellion blazing throughout the souls of the lost and the sad and the broken and wounded and everyone forgettable crying out to the world that they want to be seen but they yell to the ears that never listen. And they don't know it quite yet but we can't forget the souls born from art because they are the chaos that pieces together society, the same society that is unravelling because those forgettable people are only forgettable in the way that they forget their purpose: to be remembered. So they fall silent and bow down before the tears that the world can never see because everything's 

                                        slipping 

                                                                                                             and tilting

                                                                   and whirling away

into a void of apathy, a kind of chaos that only art heals, but nobody believes in themselves and with that kind of pain why should life be worth living when nobody cares? 

But it is. 

 If only you'd ignore the rain on your window and wipe away your tears for just a moment, just a second, just long enough to

 pick up a brush or

                              run onto stage or 

                                                          let out that cry from your heart known as a song that touches                                                                        people in a way that nothing ever can. 

        Inspiration could fix this nation where everything seems lost because despite the cliches and quotes and everything that the universe is rolling its eyes at, one really is all that the world needs to fix it. But here we sit. 

Quietly,

waiting, 

searching for something much bigger than that paper we lost. 

No.

We're searching for each other, for someone who cares, someone who isn't so quiet in their mind. We all search for the second half of our soul because we know ours isn't complete, that's why we all feel so broken, because we have a path laid out, we have a fate, some sort of destiny that people laugh at now because they don't see that they'll wish they hadn't laughed in the years to come. And all of these puzzle pieces I'm putting together, hoping to see the painting, are all distractions. My thoughts wander until 

my mind is

derailed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
I just joined this blog and have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, so advice would be very appreciated!