What is loved,
now is cumbersome to engage.

Some sort of lethargy resists my path.
Reaching a state of catharsis is draining now.

Not emotionally but physically.

Stuck in this house, with no way out.
Quarantined from a virus.
But I’ve come down with one that leaches my creativity.

Writing this poem is hard. It feels plastic.
Even though I’m writing clear what’s so elastic.

It stretches around me so true,
But when I speak it, it lies and makes me blue.

I need freedom to return to my soul.
And an inoculate to cleanse it of this toll.

These two ailments leave me,
Chained and restrained.