Crow tends the cuckoo,
its heart cracked, yet still it heals
shadows nurse the thief.

I am incapable of writing
So don't try to convince me that  
I possess countless poetic ideas.

Because at the end of the day,  
I see only failures in every attempt.  
And I'm not about to lie by saying that  
each setback helps me along.

Because no matter what,  
                        I feel trapped in a cycle of mediocrity.                        
And I am in no position to believe that  
true inspiration dwells within me.

For even in my darkest musings,  
Am I as uninspired as my doubts proclaim?

Every sorrow in existence
Woven in the tapestry of my life
Hanging on the wall of misery
But in a cold and bitter hell
With you
I feel the apricity