Ain't no sun shines brighter than the one that burns me
I'm a writer but I can't get the words out
And to some extent that thought haunts me,
It daunts, haunts me.
It plays melodies of depression,
Symphonies that require expressions,
Harmonies that need synchronizing
But keep agonizing
Keep agitating
Aggrevating

Demoralizing my need.

When last did you write?
When next will you write?
Where's your freedom of expression?
Is it drowning in your mild depression?
What happened to your passion?
Your sense of poetic style and fashion?
What's up with this caution?

Did at some point poetry break you?
Or the need to give your heart to specific words hurt your need?

What's going on?

"Hell, I just can't write. I can't put up a fight, I'm out of my mind. Traveling in  a mental continuum searching for constellations that will support my mode of writing and give me the strength that I need"

That's more than enough to make us wait then.