Lost in thoughts.
It happens to be so that you are blocked by this wall and fog blinding you and your pen.
To whom will this be for, to what will happen to a blank piece of paper.
Nothing.
You are sitting as you spill frustration for years of nothing but widowed thoughts that will never be remembered.
It’s not the distractions, it’s not lack of imagination, nor discipline or setting
It’s that you are so consumed by your own thoughts it’s unexplainable to put down on ink.
Making it harder to think and execute thoughts on some papers. Feeling needles tickling your brain to mess with your head everyday.
Scratches after scratches, it’s nothing worthy enough to call it published.
Nothing but lead marks across the page as erased words disappear from the paper.
Of years being lost in thought, hard enough to write stanzas after stanza from how love became the root of pain to the pain being written in the air or nothing.
-S. Bryan