In nightly revels and new jollity.

I used to love writing so much.

But now it feels like such a chore. It doesn’t feel natural. I mean sure, I just finished a poem last night, the first poem I’ve written in 4ish months. I used to write so much poetry that it was crazy. But now everything I try to put into words just feels so forced. It doesn’t have that natural vibe to it that it used to. Where is this unneeded writer’s block coming from? There’s so much I’m feeling right now, such a varied mix of emotions and I can’t find a way to put it all into words.

To Pens

Your movements are swift
You imprint the paper
How does it feel?
To be pressed against the desk?
Does it hurt?
But when your ink runs out,
What’s next?
Is that your death?
Does it hurt to be used?
To be dropped on the floor
To be bitten on by people
To run out of ink
Is it like bleeding to death?
But when your time has come,
To be thrown in the trash
What’s next?

Untitled 2

Through the glass,
I see you there.
I’m in here,
Just staring out.

I see children playing.
Laughter, joy, and innocence flourishes.
Though I’m frozen here,
I secretly wish and hope for freedom.

Trapped.
Constricted.
Permanentely here.
Only now to observe.

Isolation.
Never to communicate, ever.
Eternal silence.
Not even the softest whisper can escape.

There are many others where I am.
We’re all prisoners.
Locked up at night.
Distant from all life.

Day after day,
I am visited by the young and old.
Oh, how I long for their touch.
Just to connect with someone, anyone.

Some would say that I stare.
Or that my eyes follow you.
It’s my only communication,
A mere cry for help.

My body, eternally suffering.
One position, one pose.
A smile that will never fade.
A hand that will never relax.

What do you see?
A joyous smile or a tormented frown?
Look through me to see what I really am.
I am art.

Heartstrings

A soft, sweet tune is heard.
The bow glides oh-so-gently over the strings.
Lovely and quiet melodies calmly float along.
A harsh, jarring wrong note sounds.
The bow suddenly stops, music ceases.
Tranquil harmonies begin once again.
Though the music possesses a bitter undertone.
Unnoticed by some, obvious to others.
A string softly cries to itself as the bow slides past it.
The peaceful song has become bleak and grim.
With each stroke, a string struggles.
The string snaps. It’s all over now.

Untitled 3

Its razor smile greets you like an old friend
The one who slashed you to pieces
The one who cut your feelings up
Scars remind us, we never forget

We meet once again, but it’s only agony
A sharp and jagged pain
The attempt stings and screams
Nothing but the usual scar

No release or escape
Just the bloody pain and scars
No longer an old friend,
but merely misery and its facade.

I’m gonna put some of my poems, photographs, and a drawing in my queue.

I hope you all like them!

They won’t be up until later today. Just a few poems I’ve written, pictures I’ve taken, and poster art I’ve drawn. If you all have any questions about anything that will be posted, please feel free to inbox me :)

Finally wrote a poem for the first time since November 2010

CREATIVITY!? INSPIRATION!?! You’re coming back to me?!?! :O