One day all my inspirations just... disappeared
I couldn't paint, I couldn't write, I couldn't feel.
I may have fell asleep for an inch of a second,
but who'd dared to rob me of my dreams?
I couldn't explain it if I tried.
One day all my words just... made no sense
I couldn't paint, I couldn't write, I couldn't feel.
These words they used to string together,
magically and easily on their own.
Now I can't paint, I can't write, I can't feel.
It hurts to remain seated on the edge of my bed,
casually typing away at my keyboard, letter by letter.
These words they do not string together,
magically and easily on their own.
It is more than you think.
I've more to say but it aches as I breathe
my heart shrinks as my chest narrows
my skin rips as my nails claws
over
and
over
and
over
again
And it hurts but the words string together suddenly.
This feels so familiar,
I know it all too well.
Why does it always have to hurt for things to make sense?
This doesn't make sense, at all.
— c.s wondering