Saturday, February 6, 2016

then there are days like this.

there are days when the cup is almost empty
just dregs, all smudged at the bottom
i smear my finger in them
to come up with something halfway decent

but there is nothing, it disappears off my fingers
just a ghost of a feeling, a spark, a thought
a rhyme, a word, a metaphor, a simile
all gone, words in the wind

all there is, is a creeping sensation
a headache crawling up my spine
a sinking feeling in my gut
but otherwise, absolutely fine

sometimes i stare at my hands
what strange disease has made them like this
were these fingers made to strike keys
or tap on screens till some apocalypse

For days filled with doubt, but hey, we bounce back. We always do.
Imagination is a curse. There are times when your head and heart are not into it, but the fucking fingers, they know what to do. I guess that's also a kind of muse or creative angle. People smarter than me would be able to explain better, I am sure.

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