Wake of day; the birth of unease
My ink's drought, a fear at worst
The sound of a heartbeat, persisting
A passion wounded; salvaged by praise.
Structure is found, a thought is lost
Difficulty admitted, my body numbed
The end may be now; writer's block is desired
Forgetting lines, forgetting life.
Hindrances to my growth, never not present
If not my memory, than monotony
The drive I have, denied a forward
Decisions to quit, hollowed by comments.
Afraid I may be, but friends have I still
Complimenting my lines; complementing my incomplete stanzas.