Writers Block

Can’t seem to find the words to describe what it is I lack.

Looking for what motivates to pick up on my slack.

Feeling drained of my artistic adrenaline rush. World’s greatest canvas; but dry remains the brush.

Used to be told to “Hush” these thoughts of suicide that never seem to die. Walking unaffected with baggage that make others want to cry.

I know the truth yet for some reason I can’t stop this lie…I tell myself in the mirror.

“It’s not your fault. You are the monster your peers created.”

If that’s true then why must I stay heavily sedated.

Why not go all out on the world. Why not add to the darkness and turmoil?

Because I created myself.

If I told you I didn’t like being evil don’t believe me. If you see me helping others PLEASE don’t percieve me; to be a good guy or die by my hands.

I got a date with the devil so no, we can not make “plans.” Fuck people who do things like this for their “Fans”. I do this shit cause I hurt inside. I  walked all the way to hell because heaven doesn’t give rides. Can’t seem to rid myself of this foolish pride, but could care less if you chose to confide. .

. .in me…

 

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