i can feel the passion slowly fading.
when faced with blank pages, i spew nothing
but empty words and meaningless sentences,
so superficial, overflowing with pretenses.

oh, how i miss the wide-eyed writer I used to be:
the type to pour his whole heart and soul into his stories.
now, i'm stuck chasing the words that were once mine,
stuck wondering if i'll ever get back my shine.

I am currently experiencing
a severe case
of creative block
I’m bleeding from my ears
blood from my eyes
dripping down my chin and brow
blood on these lines
stored ****** thoughts
reserved in my head
leaking down my nose
Dam I’m bleeding read

Lately the poetry is not coming to me,

I feel pain too intensely.

I feel myself enclosed within tight spaces,

I can hardly feel a flow of words, spill out, unwaveringly.

Lately, I’ve been too lost in thought,

I am too much in rumination to get a burst of feeling,

So intense, I resort to written expression.

Lately, I’ve been scared of many things;

Of living and of death;

Of my own and my only friend.

Lately, lately, I await, until the words come again…