When I haven't written for as long as I have,
I begin to think of any possible inspiration.
I have kissed and made love,
I have argued with others and battled myself.

Since no inspiration has arisen, I find myself
Torn between searching the ends of the Earth
And giving up.

Words are the building blocks of the modern world,
And I am unable to use them like I used to.
I find my poetry becoming essay-like.
Robotic. Empty. Hollow. When I speak my poetry,
I lack passion. My vocal chords leave me flat.
It may be spreading to my mind.

I lack passion for words and emotions all together
I am purely physical. I express my emotions in
An ordinary way, but I would rather sing and write.
I am becoming lost.