Why does it feel like I am dying,
In the times that I’m not writing,
If I’m not Fulfilling,
This tension that sets my intentions.
My broken and beaten body,
Will have to guide me,
Is not being used right,
As I wander through aimless ponders.
This pain that always grows,
Will have to wait to know,
This is exsisting as an excruciating need,
Because as I fail to bring you new creations,
I find failure in the death of all my damnations.
S.F. _ 05/24/2021 _ 2:53 pm