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The hardest part of writing poetry Is not making sure it all rhymes. It's not even checking your spelling, Nor being topical with the times.
I sighed, annoyed at myself. A whole week had passed, and not a single, bloody thing has been written. Absolutely nothing. I couldn't get my head gears grinding. They were just sitting there, dormant.
I've had nothing to say and really very little to write. I've been feeling shit from a comment made the other night. I thought I was doing pretty well and I thought my work was just to read...
My WiFi went dead such a tragic dispair. It ment no Opuss for me, for one whole day. A day without composing, writing, and posting. A time of darkness I don't want to revisit.
I try to write, Nothing comes out. Perhaps it's mental drought. I'm out. Or a bad reaction to all the hate. So tired, getting late. Not a broken heart or tortured soul as of late.
Sometimes I sit and wonder why, I let so many hours pass me by, I should be productive, creative and smart, And make myself a nice new piece of art.
I feel like I'm falling. Drowning in despair. The people I once cared about. Are no longer standing there. After viciousness and attacks. We all turn on each other. Despite the fact as writers.
I wish I had the time. To write a perfect rhyme. Make a rhyme that's mine. Oh, I wish I had the time. I wish I had the hours. To write a verse with power. Make a verse that towers.
Oh Opuss. I feel that a lack of inspiration, and a general feeling of melancholy means that I am unable to write anything of interest today. I am drawing a blank with "Devil Inside" at the moment.
I feel most inspired when I don't want too be. God damn it sleep. Why do you make it so that when I can finally accept you for the day, you run off and hide behind inspiration...
"I no longer wish to write" was the writer's fervent claim, for his words have no purpose; they lack meaning and aim,.
Far too busy and I miss writing these bits. Why don't I have the time to make up these hits. I need to relax and chill, find a release. Write something nonsense, my poor brain to appease.
I don't know what to write next for crazy kid, so I read through all of the different parts and I've decided that the last one will be good enough to be the end!.
I'm not quite sure, What do say. What shall I Post today. Maybe a poem, But what about. Ah this heat, Is making me pout. The heat has stripped, My motivation Little miss Curious' Inspiration.
© ZuperZed Have to think of something that makes you guys happy. It's going to be tough 'cause I'm feeling really crappy. Woke up this morning, didn't sleep too well.
Here I sit. Trying to think. But my brain doesn't want to play. Should I continue my story. Maybe some random blog. About nothing in general. But all my mind can see. Is a foggy grey hue. No spark.
I know it's time to sleep. My body is tired and broken. My eyes want to close and rest. My brain, quite literally, has other ideas.
Negotiating screenplay, a hazardous task, Director wants to cover my work with a mask. Decorate with bows, ribbons and sashes, Make it more palatable for the masses.
Is it a crime to not have the time to rhyme. To not have the capacity for tenacity. The fortitude for a bit of attitude.
Writing is easy. Sometimes. You just sit down and let the words drip out of your mouth onto the paper (or computer). Sometimes they flow fast. Other times they slop out slowly.
The streets shine with rain, Heavens turn to the usual grey My mind's colours fade to black, I'm going nowhere Two steps forward Three leaps back All my dreams have fallen Where is my safety zone.
I feel a bit uninspired at the moment. Do you ever get those times where nothing you write seems good enough. It's ever so depressing.
Join the dark side, the Priestess said. Tempting, said the poet. Won't you dare, you're halfway there. You just don't really know it. Swell my ranks, she said, and you'll find. A blacker way to write.
Obviously, I don't know but I honestly believe that being a writer is harder than being an author.