It seems impossible to articulate
The specific degree of hate
I feel for what I'm not
My musings leave me distraught
I feel unable to change my fate.
I fear becoming the person
Who's mind just seems to worsen
That has lost the ability to grow
Creativity under the nuclear snow
Swept away by fear and coercion
I look now at what I've created
The only one by whom I'll be berated
Sees only mediocrity
I already regret this atrocity
I'll only ever hate it
Constructive criticism appreciated. I hate feeling uncreative, and I suppose this was just my attempt to create something for the sake of proving that I can.