The ink runs dry
But I have more to say
The pages run thinner
But I have more to write
The words are lost in the mind of the husk that occupies it
I wish I could scream, but I am too weak
Ravenous for satisfaction but the meat of creativity runs dry upon the bone
Suckling for more, but I only taste blood
Can I go on when the world holds me back?
Or am I shackled to the reality of life?
Breaking free to feel the grass on my feet, my breath in the cold air, my air through the lonely breeze
These are only dreams, reality takes me to an even darker space
Reality has a depressing grip and I feel it’s warm embrace