There are also those few,
For whom only dry winds blew,
They only saw time when away it flew.

Giving them jolts like a bolt from the blues,
Time definitely gave the warriors of time the rues,
For they never-ever even managed to compose the blues.

I seem to have lost,
my inspiration,
I don't know where it went,
it is hiding from me.
Every word I type,
is a struggle
to even come up with.
I don't feel creative,
I don't feel alive,
I just don't feel
right.
My thoughts
are locked up,
in a strong box,
that sits,
in the depths,
of my mind,
and my words,
to me,
don't seem to flow,
everything,
is all choppy,
and I don't like it.
I feel like
i'm dragging,
ideas,
out of my head,
letting them rip apart,
on the thorns my imagination
left behind,
and bleed slowly,
on the ground,
scattering,
and destroying themselves,
shriveling up,
in a ******,
pool,
of unfortunate ideas,
that never make it,
to paper,
and they die.
I can't remember them,
they don't sit in my mind,
and they lose their,
significance,
to me.
And I feel guilty,
because of,
this block.
I feel like i'm murdering,
my ideas,
and they're innocent!
and i'm killing them,
without a second thought!
I hope some inspiration hits me soon,
because if it doesn't,
then I don't know,
what I will do.