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