Blocked

Should I talk about my nightmares? Should I talk about my dreams? Should I talk about the curse I hold under my breath? Should I talk about the nonsense verse I pretend to pay attention to? Should I talk about the people I miss? Should I talk about the conversations I look forward to?  Should I talk about how it feels like to skip my morning coffee? Should I talk about typical Mondays? Should I talk about the song inside my head? Should I talk about the last quote I have read? Should I talk about another daily miracle or another simple joy? Should I talk about heartache and resentment? Should I talk about the lies that are sugarcoated by truth or the truths that turn out to be lies? Should I talk about how I don’t get the point of talking about “everything under the sun” when more ideas flood during a storm? Should I talk about how empty I feel at the moment having nothing to talk about, now that I have time to waste on this thing called writing?

How frustrated can I be, making myself believe that writing down my thoughts would actually give meaning to this futility? Right now, my thoughts are still pointless. I would like to believe I might just be confused, but I guess I am just lonely.

I am looking for my muse. And I am about to cry.

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Author: Acey

I bleed coffee.

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