I feel the need to write and I don’t know why.
I wish I did. It’s almost like inspiration except it’s not. I have no ideas to put down, no new things to say. I keep spouting lyrics that are what I want to say, but I cannot form something that has already been formed.
I wish that I could but I can’t.
So I am stuck repeating what other people say as if I have no voice at all. But that’s not true. I used to write constantly. I couldn’t be caught without a thought in my head and ink on my hand. I feel as if my creativity has fallen out of me, plop by plop as I‘ve trodden along this path of my life, leaving little flowers and treasures behind, and now I’ve run out of them.
I have nothing left to give; you’ve taken all of…
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