I seem to loose the essence of what all of this is about.
it before gave me a way to express what I desperately wanted to shout,
or maybe this is just a common case of a poet's drought?
I can never be certain.
I am my own worst critic,
could you say that  I'm harsh or bad at doing my job?
is my self loathing so blinding that I have to look no further for the reason of lost essence?
I don't know what to think anymore
should I quit?
or should I try to live through this tiring phase?
I'm not one for holding on to hope for too long,
and neither am I one to pray.