In the early mornings,
when I cannot find the motivation
to get out of bed,
I look at the books
that I have not yet read.
A wave of guilt washes of me.
I turn to look at the unfinished drawings
and the pencils that are still sharpened.
A wave of guilt whispers to me.
I roll over and see the empty words
of stories, with the characters unpublished.
A wave of guilt drowns me.
It seems these days, I am nothing but
Guilty.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
In the early mornings,
when I cannot find the motivation
to get out of bed,
I look at the books
that I have not yet read.
A wave of guilt washes of me.
I turn to look at the unfinished drawings
and the pencils that are still sharpened.
A wave of guilt whispers to me.
I roll over and see the empty words
of stories, with the characters unpublished.
A wave of guilt drowns me.
It seems these days, I am nothing but
Guilty.
