Let me start out by saying-
that I have absolutely nothing to say
Now maybe that should be a bad thing and,
don't get me wrong it most definitely is for poetry.
however-
not for everything else.
I don't have anything to say anymore
because I've said it all, all I want to, Needed to say.
and I can't seem to want to write because my writing is supposed to help me think and organize clumps of words
into lines
and lines
into stanzas
and stanzas into-
well,
poetry.
but its gone,
I asked myself where the magic went
and the only conclusion is
that the magic wasn't there to start,
my emotions were.
my fuel fracked and burned up
because the poetry helped me live.
and now I don't know how to live without it.
I'm addicted and can't even make my own cravings
