The moments are solemn
Creepy silence has overcome
Once bustling with creative fervor
Stupefied to silence, words dried up
Eternal spring, at the core of the soul
Lying stagnant for a long time
Layers of **** and algae made it murky
The Muses don’t come to drink from it
There is no music played anymore
Violin strings have rusted and not tuned
Every note wailing in despair and neglect
No hymns, only dirge, is chanted from afar
Solemn moments have gripped the heart
Soul deprived of the sweet lyrical waters
Poet’s aquifer is dangerously low
Waiting for the rains of wisdom and creativity
To replenish the eternal spring
Clearing out the **** and algae
Inviting the Muses again, to visit the spring
And words shall flow with clarity, once again
Music shall reign supreme in the soul

The sad part is that most of us, writers,
are almost ashamed to say it out loud.
We do it like a bad habit we can't escape.
****** junkies with the leash around our necks.
Treat it like a disfigurement; our
malignant entries spread like cancer from
under our pathetic, hypocritical hands.
We're sad.
Depressed.
"Heart broken".
Angst ridden.
Jaded.
Coping.
Coping.
Learning to cope,
but often failing.
Stepping on each other;
a sea of cadavers with
no bottom, surface, or center.
Full of brilliance/ brighter than the sun.
Collectively, we are a diamond made from ****.
A uselessly expensive commercial good,
nonetheless.
The next Bukowski will be a child molester,
or a sociopathic spree killer. Too bad
no one wants to be the great writer of course.
What greater shame could there be?
What bigger embarrassment could exist?
What insult and tragedy is more than being
a writer?

Friend or enemy
Your two faced side has shown
No longer trusted
You're out
And so are your games
You've been a fake for too long
Finally discovered
Thrown under
Left for the leaches
Degenerate piece of ****
Get in your hole and bury yourself

In moments we suffer we’re like sweet dispositions
To cry in silence and shiver in pain
It all gets too much and we’ll just implode
Communication and network error: Sorry I cannot hear you
My brain and my thoughts are two different puzzles
My mind and my body are two different vessels
My heart and my soul are entities at war
My hope and my dreams are **** on my bathroom
floor
Why I see to see to see to dream what’s real and know what’s not
Mumble jumble goes my brain
beep beep beep network error
server error
brain is error
error
dead