The dreary grey portrays this state
this state of contentment
the contentment however
is troubling
because lack of inspiration
is troubling in the sense that
I don't know what to do or what to write or how to write
and because it's my "art",
I'm angry that I cannot articulate these nonexistent thoughts
To think that creativity stems from suffering
is to think that pleasure is contingent on pain
still, this contentment is leading to mania and confusion
confusion as to why my writing isn't what it used to be
and I ask myself to weigh the costs and benefits
of suffering versus peace of mind
and I don't know
so here I am,
unexposed
left in between two fragile states of
emotion,
that cannot be described