When will I be able to exhale? Express?

Expose? Expose myself for the rest of the world to ravish into pieces, pick at, analyze, possibly even collect. Is there nothing there but ambiguity? Is something hidden in the nonsense that flows from my lips?

Sometimes people ask me “What are you thinking about?” The truth is, my mind is constantly racing. Light speed. Up, down, exploring highs and lows, never balanced. I often attempt to release the void that I consider to be my thoughts. I translate my thoughts into words. Words of desire, hope, curiosity, confusion, pure emotions that I never knew existed.

The translations never excel at expressing anything. Am I just borrowing these words? Will they ever make sense? Are they actually connected? Is anything ever connected?