Dead on the inside I can't conjure any inspiration to lift my imagination from this barren plain
Searching for stimulation I've stumbled across enunciation In those rare moments when the torrent of my heart overflows
But now my chest is lacking since all the valleys and hills have been flattened. In the mountains where my muse reposed All that remains are empty paths of prose
So I'll write. Where once I put pen to screen to catch my screams Now I'll clatter away to Escape the doldrum of emotional boredom