Let Me Scream

I want to write

But, I require perfection. It has to be just right.

I can put something down on paper that seems exactly what I want.

Walk away from it only to return loathing it.

What gives?

I get trapped. Stuck in my own thoughts.

It's not writer's block because I have plenty of material.

Which is a curse in and of itself.

I try to write for myself. "It's healthy," they say.

Well, it's not.

How will my mental diarrhea be interpreted?

Why do I care?

I am the only reader.

I was a born exhibitionist.

I flourish from praise but sink with criticism.

Maybe it's my O.C.D.

Maybe it's narcissism.

I want to create.

Draw things the way I perceive them.

Paint as abstract as it gets.

But my brain doesn't allow for it's imperfections.

I try to just "let it go."

No, that's not happening. 

I hate disappointing myself.

I don't like people telling me something I have done.

"Came out so good."

Bull shit! That's a lie. 

You have to say that.

You are too human to say anything to the contrary.

I want to compose.

Every note is too flat or too sharp.

I can't allow it to make sense.

The rhythm is too slow. The beat is too fast.

Fuck, I need another cigarette.

Now I can't remember that last harmony.

Fuck it!

I don't want to write.

I don't want to create.

I don't want to compose.

LET ME SCREAM!

Russell Reich

Russell survived the battle of the demons inflicted by the streets of Somerville, Massachusetts. 

He skipped town with his girlfriend, landed in the Midwest and became a father of two boys.

He has always had a knack for things that inspire. 

Mainly music, but anything that took him away from the bad memories or the hustle & bustle 

of work/home life could evoke him to create just about anything he had the time for.