hole in my soul

If everynight I come here for a bit, type for a bit before bed I wonder if the writing will become better, and when I say better I really don't know what I mean by it, for there doesn't seem to be a way for myself to measure myself about what I mean by better. I suppose, like most other things we do in this little life of ours, that the more I write the more insight I will accumulate. But sometimes I feel as though I see too much within myself, as though my eyes are shooting laser beams through my chest. And I am literally seen through.