these ******* words just dont feel right anymore

My fingers feel numb and my pen has run dry.

I've been sitting for hours just thinking of the right rhymes

the right words, phrases that would catch the eyes of readers

I became a ******* factory.

Cold, spewing out the same generic **** over and over.

No wonder **** felt wrong.

I have not been free. I want to be free.



I want to be free of everything. Leave everything.

but love. Love is not free.

Love is binding, love is heavy, love is painful

and I dont want it.

it seems though, I have no choice.

and as if some unknown force ordained it to be

this binding

this heavy

this painful love of mine

chose you.

you



I was ready to be free.

I had sharpened the pen that would write the final farewell on my wrists, I had convinced myself that I was ready to be free.

but then I realised today was Thursday. We usually go out Thursdays. Have lunch or watch a movie.

Maybe I wasn't ready to be free yet. maybe.