The process was interrupted
Now I just can't write anymore
The words used to rush out
Now it drains me to my core
I forgot how to do it, how to feel and reveal,
How to put it on paper when it all got too real
Now every syllable feels like labour,
My own Herculean childbirth
My body ripped open with every phrase
My head splitting to let out each word
It's excruciating to frame, torturous to phrase
Agonizing to construct, to express, to articulate
I find no satisfaction in what I write,
Find no joy in what I create
I keep going back to what I wrote before,
And try my best to emulate
There's a blackhole where my creativity should be
A cash register in place of my type writer
I think I've run out of things to say
I think I tried too hard to burn brighter
I pushed too hard, and I lowered the bar
I wanted to please more hearts, so I pimped out my art
I lost my voice trying to regale all the boys
Till it left a vacuum in my heart, just emotional white noise
And the void spread like an ink blot on a drenched sheet of paper
I became more hollow, my insides all scooped out with a scraper
I have to go looking for me again, I have to get back my magic sea shell
I'll find myself and then I'll write myself
Out of this wordless steel hell
I'll see you on the other side, as a surer form of who I am now
Where I can pour the river out and not be afraid of my own sound
I can almost feel a spark, almost feel it get reignited
And more than anything, for my new art,
I'm excited
All of this, is for me, not to strike anyone else's fancy
My delusional expectations blinded me,
But now but now, I can see
