a way to cleanse my soul,
a cure to my diseases.
writing is my angel.
when my mouth becomes at fault
to organize my words,
writing is my savior.

but sometimes a haze
covers my analytical abilities.
like a cloud casting shadows onto earth's ground.
writers block is poisonous to my fragile brain.

i hate that i forget how to rescue myself.
i'm drowning in my lack of awareness.
struggling to speak through my hands.
i'm afraid it is too late
to save my once poetic mind.

even this makes me horrified
that i may
have lost my voice