This lack of inspiration is exhausting
because I need to write to feel
and right now I am as emotionless as a lampshade
yet as emotional as a broken hearted hoodlum
this emotional paradox is draining the juice that keeps me running
it is content but it is confusing
the only solvency to this whirlwind of blankness
is unknown
enter into calculator
no solution
this lack of inspiration
a mirror can't even show me who or what or how
the music that enlivens me no longer strikes me as perfection
and it's strange because this darkness isn't dark
it's not light but it's fluctuating
fluctuating like an unsteady heartbeat
and jesus,
I hate religion
what is this feeling of nothing
emotion: blah
it's pathetic
where are the words that used to save me
where is the poem that made me proud of what I had to say
all there is right now
is ranting
and confusion
and **** this because
I can't seem to articulate whatever it is that
I need to say
so **** this