“How prosaic was that piece”
I yelled and screamed
words of sorrow and grief
about a writing of my own
But I never cried thus never felt relieved
about the fact that I cannot write!
My brain is filled with unfinished lines
too many stories to tell filled with dirty old lies
insomnia haunts me, but still I can’t get it right
when it comes to typing those lines down
My fingers freeze and behind the screen I hide
O, I just cannot write!
I used to think that I’d be satisfied
if I shut myself out and buried those feelings underneath
the bones of my rib-cage, but now I cannot breathe
and I’m suffocating…can you believe
I utterly cannot write!
Those stories are now eating me up inside
but I just can’t spit them out even though I tried
to scream and shout ’cause I just can’t type
them down again. It doesn’t feel right
Because I know I cannot write!
Too many distractions have taken my attention
away from the things I should be concerned
about, and now when I look at my reflection
in the mirror. Uninspired is how I feel
it’s so clear
now I’ve a chance to make it right
I can’t just hide behind my fears
forever. I must confess that
I cannot write!