The Fear

It’s starting again.

My poetry is starting to fade from me. Why the fuck does this keep happening to all my art forms?? Unlike with my stories before, with my poetry I wrote every single damn time I got the urge. I didn’t let one opportunity pass. I held on to it with all my might, and I never put in this kind of effort for anything else (except her) but it’s still slipping away.

I can’t write smoothly anymore. Sometimes an idea presents itself, but something comes up and clogs the flow of the words, until the image just dies away, without being catered to. It makes me want to press my face to a burning stove, if only to invoke pain that I can write about and not ignore. It feels like I’m holding in vomit, and it’s making me sicker than I already am.

And I’m scared. So, so scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

Because I cannot deal with these crazy thoughts and emotions if I don’t have an outlet. And if my poetry does fade, it will take me a while to learn a new art, simply because I’m too stupid. How the hell am I supposed to do anything after this? Writing has always been my thing. I can’t draw properly. I can’t play any musical instruments, nor write lyrics worth shit. What, should I move on to screenwriting? No fucking way I can do that. In short, after poetry, I am done for. I’ll have no language to vent in, so my emotions will be mute as mutes come. In short, I will implode and probably swallow some bleach.

A little voice in my head says that it’s a side effect of having nothing to “live” for. So it’s because of her? Because the romantic struggle is gone? Because I have no one to weep my eyes out for? That’s not fair, not fair at all.

If there are any gods out there, please let me keep this one thing. Please.

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