I like carnivals, but I hate the circus

I woke up at 5am last night, after just "resting my eyes" on my bed for, what, FOUR HOURS. I woke up, and wrote these two words on the end of a paragraph I was writing in Word:

"effervescent derision"

Uh-wuh...

I'm saving the paragraph for later. It's quite angst-ridden.
Full of holes
black knives and bullet skulls.

...

Meow.

days old, still relevant

I serve no purpose.
Things understood beyond successful communication. Why should I feel the need, the desire to take pen to paper when I can’t even paint an accurate portrait? How do you feel? I could try and tell you. Why do you feel this way, how do you know? I just do. Trust me. Gently chipping away at some silly illusions, happy delusions. Perhaps it is this very handicap that keeps me going. I suffer violently verbally, yet written, I still have a chance.