Hello, Nine-one-one? I'm calling to report a missing persons. She's been missing for more than forty-eight hours, and I'm beginning to become ill with worry. Yes, she's gone missing before, but she always seems to turn up again not long after. She's never been gone this long. I don't know what to do. She is everything to me; she creates new life, she brings me new ideas, she builds worlds no one else could create. She's the reason I can do what I am best at, and without her...I've become nothing. It feels like a piece of me has been ripped out and stomped on multiple times. I now wake up and feel as if there is no new life to be found, to be created, to cherish. There is no more beauty to worship. I can no longer bring alive an idea from my one of a kind mind because there are no new ideas to be born. Not an idea to flow from my brain and through a pen and on to some paper. There is nothing to inspire me because she is gone, and probably forever. Without her I'm lost. Her name is...Creativity, and I suspect Writers Block of taking her...
This is my first poem in a few months, so it may be a little rough. Criticism, and comments are welcome as always!
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