I'm trying to make art but I'm numb.
Lost the flow somewhere along the lines of wine and soft talks among friends
Where I already expressed most things of importance
And took no time to tend to the papers in front of me.
It's okay though.

I don't think I could ever speak so much I would never have a reason to write,
Bits of conversation just get lost in the air sometimes,
making it hard to form the sentences or sonnets.
But I'm so guarded in the places I never wanted to be,
I have too many things I could never tell through my teeth,
And that's when I find myself here,
A tad bit drunk and with canceled plans,
It's okay though.