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What most call inspiration
To me
Is nothing more than a gruelling process
Of trial and error
And determination
Art is not always spur of the moment, but often involves many attempts at finding one's own voice and style.
The floor rises and falls,* it breathes
The walls churn as they move
Bugs crawl under my skin
As I stumble around the room

A clock ticks in the corner
Though it hasn't run for years
I scratch my face thoroughly
As I d
rown in salty tears

The basement's full of monsters
Voices murmur and scream
My hair comes out in locks
From my forehead rolls off steam

There is no sense of time
Only anxiety, and fright
I want to fall asleep*
But I know I won't tonight
Every choice is a sacrifice
An opportunity lost
A road not taken
It leaves you lacking another route
You can seldom go back
And if you do
There is no guarantee that things
Will get better
Because going back is a choice
And so is moving forward
And with each you lose something
A part of who you could have been
To be who you are
And you must always live
With the consequences
Of your decisions
My decisions are fallacious
My thoughts are surreptitious
My heartbeat arrhythmic
And my soul tormented

I help none
Speak not
And seek no intimacy

I am contemptible
I am nugatory
I've worked hard
And smart
And have still gotten nowhere
The epic tales
All end the same
With the hero
Emerging victorious

But in real life
Most are not heroes
And we often
Emerge beaten
And bloodied
And unable
Or unwilling
To try
Ever again
They say every cloud
Has a silver lining
But in a thunderstorm
The clouds are one
And they cover everything
In a shadow
There's no silver lighting
Visible from the ground
Except for the lightning's flash
That sets fire
To the Earth
And burns down homes
Until we have nothing left
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