I usually find it so easy,
to write what I feel,
I usually find it so easy,
for me to deal
these cards of my heart,
I usually am never,
in lack of words to describe and say,
that someone is great or beautiful,
in every possible way,
but nothing came before this,
when it was nothing my feelings would flow,
now they are silent and waiting,
they hide and lay low,
why is it now,
that I can't say what needs to be said?
When before when I was empty,
my plastic feelings would flow
like a river,

Why i ask myself over and over,
well I can only think of one answer,
you are one writer's block,
that I would never want to end,
even if it means,
to my lovely literature i can no longer tend.