My imagination feels
stifled,
and offers me
neither plot
nor character
from
which
to
b
u
i
l
d
a new
story.
No creative scenarios
or
lines of witty dialogue
pop
into my head.

But
this is my own doing;
this
is what I
requested-
begged for,
even-
without
realizing
the
consequences.

Regret pools in me,
but
I know of
no
way
to reverse it.
I'm sorry
that I shut
my imagination
up,
but it
wouldn't
shut up
about
you.