Its been so long since i put my words on paper, why?
I find every sentence I want has a synonym in every emotion.
Every swell of imagery has been ruined perpetually by my burning out.
By my stuffing down.
By secluding the dark into a tiny dimension with a haphazard sign,
all pictures left my mind and all that is and all that could be, stayed.
I worried what others cared for, i forgot i cared too.
Got so wrapped in the world inside my world, i forgot how to draw.
All colors have escaped through crevices i thought i filled. And to imagine more seemed such a task.
To imagine anything but hollow seems against my own moral code these days. I ask myself what hurts and then.
I only see words. I hear the sentences without beauty. Just in that, it is.