Disquieting

Is there a right way to write a journal because I feel like I’m going to do this all wrong… 

I am my own heroine in my own inessentiality. I speak words with an air of ambitious authority —-only to play the part. Catch me off my guard and my all-containered anxiety will spill out like messy broth. My hands will become warm and moist as I fidget with my longish piano fingers. My hair will somehow make its way to my face and act as a shield against all preconceived danger. My knees will shake and my breathing will shallow as my eagerness will begin to lead me into places that I just am not ready for. My semi-precious eagerness will be the source of my ultimate annihilation and the end of my ephemeral tragedy. My tragedy of Great Unimportant. Currently I’ve been breathing in a redolence of doom that’s quickly getting stronger.

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