Off.

Being an artist of any type you’d understand what I’m about to say. You know that feeling you get, or shall I say lack thereof. The feeling where there is no feeling. You begin to feel empty. Not unhappy, not unsatisfied. Just…..empty. You begin to question exactly what it is that you are trying to accomplish, you question what you may or may not be doing right. I’m not quite sure how to explain the feeling. My mind has always been consumed with thoughts that not even I could imagine trying to fathom. But now it’s empty it’s become a blank slate, something new. I’m not quite sure how to paint it, or arrange it. It’s become foreign to me; it’s like reacquainting me with….myself.

Here some time ago, you filled my mind with stories and lines

You seemed to fill me with more words than I could recollect and rewind

Things forgotten in moments sped; you were something that my mind had fed

Not quite sure what can be said, about the lines written in black and red

It seems too long before, that I was able to sit and store

Those ideas, those words, those lines…..to difficult to ignore.

Overwhelmingly stirring my hands to move towards pages as cold as ice

Trying to reopen my mind, trying to entice

Trying to feel anything at all, in order to suffice

It’s an unusual feeling that creeps up my spine, and into my mind

Something I’ve suspected for some time, but not easily am I able to find

Buried away in a corner long forgotten, or never quite found

It lies dormant, undetected and makes no sound

But then at the most random of times, it appears

It brings up all my worries, my haunted past……my worst fears

I’d like to just roll away, or stroll a day, to take my mind away

From anxious thoughts, that I feel my mind has long fought

I’m not sure what it is that mind has caught

But the remnants of the shock, is more than my mind can fight

It’s not something that in this state I can make right

I’m more afraid of the feeling that I’ve been a stranger to myself for too long

That everything I figured out was wrong

Not that I can fix it now, not that anything in life can be rebound

This is my current state, this is what I have to relate
This is me; this is what my mind did create




So what else does that leave me with, besides believing in my own fate?