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.