no words.

I have no words

though I suppose by saying I don't I do.

No clever alliteration. No poetic narrative.

Just hollowness

and a heavy head

And a want to cry, but the tears wont come.

Noah Kahan is right.

I filled the hole in my head

Forgot how to cry

but the pain still exists

and nothing is different

i thought if i reached the end, everything would be better

but its all the same.

keep going back to cool stuff I once made &
rereading it applying some changes
to certain ones at times; it's frustrating
that, after the latest rhyme piece written
I have created nothing decent
and am kind of wasting time on thI̲s one
where are those several lines
after penning which I, eventually, wi[aɪ]nd
up having devised a barful sheet?
how & what the hell to indite?
go, like an overnight lodge, **̲[ɑ]stile? ge[ɪ]t
["hostel"]
a mo[ɑ]p & fire lead
at poor lyricists or strike auto[ɑ]cracy
and agents of this kind of po[ɑ]litics
with spite like prior sh#t
of mine? something like the stuff in which
much of bo[ɑ]dy harm's received
by the unrighteous targets picked?
going that way reminds me of the knight of Go[ɑ]tham with
that armored co[ɑ]stume pU̲t on
[the Batman in armored suit from the "Dawn Of Justice" film]
like that warmonge[—]ring nuisance (it's all the West!)
'cause that kind of stuff's the stro[ɑ]ngest suit &
it's somewhat dark as well
but it's O̲[ʌ]f no help to the psycholo[ɑ]gic health
change the cu[ʌ]rrent bell
[style; the "change one's tune" expression]
on something which has no[ɑ]t a knell-
-like vibe to it? how in the *******?
have to be afflicted by a spell
or something to have the lyric-writing shelf
o[ʌ]f mine supplied with stuff like
that; in fact, there's one which is kind of well
in terms of the least of violence dealt
and having the least of toxic vibe as well
it's that night fun tale
["a night out rhyme tale"]
write something personal?
not like some ****** flick
but that's horrible
'cause I am pro[ɑ]bably go[ʌ]nna wI̲[aɪ]nd up with
something writ as if by a whining b#tch (again)
with all that versified, it seems
it may be better, like a nau[ɑ]ghty chick
with a zoomorphic co[ɑ]stume kink
to opt for a tale of some kind (tail)
something with the littlest o[ʌ]f spite
and sans an in-the-dumps vibe
still, it's easier to just go a[ɑ]dverse
whether I target authO̲r—
—itarianism or chU̲mps who've go[ɑ]t poor
bars, instead of tryna cO̲me up with
sO̲mething else, which is whY̲ it feels
like a comfO̲rt... zone
(a writer's comfort zone)

Wave after wave we rode the highs,
Steadying our footing before the next rise,
It all crashes into laughter and the salty foam,
Time flew by as the clouds framed the setting sun,
Lighting our path as the time came to head back home.

I lived in the fleeting moments loving the rush of being alive,
Forgetting about the dark night that lay over the horizon,
As we crossed the threshold back into our abode,
The interlude ended as the last light receded from the windows,
Leaving me in unattended in the murk of my thoughts.

Unequipped for the blackness that glared at me,
I searched for a glimmer of a forgotten dream,
There was once a fire that shone bright my hopes & ambitions,
Not even embers remain that I may stoke a new flame,
Aimlessly I move through the motions of the daily mundane.

Slowly collapsing under the unbearable weight,
Wishing that I could find meaning in life,
Or give up altogether and end it tonight,
"Why am I even here?" Echoes back at me from the dark,
I fear there is nothing else left for me here.

Don’t dangle me
to the carrot

These days the well of ideas runs dry
I can no longer lower my bucket
And bring it up full
With enough to satisfy your thirst for creativity
And to satisfy my thirst to create
Yet I am chained to my commitment
To bring you this daily offering
So I turn to the dry stones of my well
And try to squeeze water from them

I hope this mere drop is enough

The new year should bring
New inspirations but I am
Feeling quite lost.

Spinning on delicate in a
never ending cycle of my
Washing machine.

Repetition at its finest.
New would be nice I reckon.