I'm losing motivation.
I'm losing sleep over the most trivial of things.
I can't seem to keep my head wrapped around these things I'm suppose to love to do.
I sit and I stare at a screen full of words from another, trying to find the best response but finding nothing that works.
I'm tired, I'm sick of having to write the same ******* thing every day of my life. This ****** romance that I have with you, I tire of it so but I can't escape you everywhere I go.
No matter what words I bold, highlight, underline, or stress, you always come back every single time.
I'm done with it.
These words will be my last.
You killed my creativity and destroyed the imagination of a writer who wanted nothing more than to live her dream.
These stories I imagined, the plot lines I constructed, are crumbling down under a mountain of the same role plays that seem to haunt me.
But none of you care.
This wasn't just for fun.
It was to test my limits and see how far I could run a story until I was sure it was completed.
But you can't make a story off of constant ***.
I've tried to. Time and time again but it always gets lost behind a sea of one liner responses.
I'm tired. I'm spent. Another dream gone down the drain.
I don't know if I want to save it. It'll always be the same.
The communities never seem to change.
These people always want the same thing no matter what you say to try to change it.
I want to scream and cry. I feel every option is gone.
That I have no choices left and nothing more to move on to.
I'm holding in my breath.
Holding in every ounce of rage from letting lose upon these idiots I am forced to communicate with.
Art is a bang, or so it's said. The gun is to my head as you pull the trigger.
BANG!
Another artist is dead.