Failed Poet

Most of my poems have the same words; bleed, misery, death,

sadness, tears, wrath, love, despair. I wish my heart would just

come out my throat and fill the paper with its pain.

I don't know how to express anymore.

I don't know how to breathe pain on my paper anymore.

It's getting harder to spill my guts. My pen. My weapon is losing its

meaning. It's still my weapon but I think I'm forgetting how to use

it.

How would I go on if I don't write? How am I going to keep you

in my memories? How am I going to handle the world?

My heart beats faster at the thought of not being able to write. All

I can do is wish for my hands to tremble and scribble madly on my

paper. At Least each line would be a thought only I understand.

Hiraeth