Motivated... yet unmotivated to write...
Scared of what secrets my pen will tell,
afraid of the pain my heart will remember.
It's not writer's block,
more like heart-block.

That feeling of breaking into pieces,
scattered across the floor
rolling under the bed... my senses.
My fears cling to the ceiling,
my tears fill my bath tub.

That night my lover proved to me
that I was living a scripted TV show.
What I thought was my reality
was fake.

Pathetic I was,
for lowering myself for a man
that was never worthy to call me his.

Visions of my future disappeared,
everything got hazy.

How in four months can I get over what I though was the love of my life?

Unfortunately, I have to report that I'm DOA.