Mood: Worried.
Song: Sick Muse - Metric
I've been thinking about it for a while;
How I haven't written any of my real thoughts down in a while.
Like the things that make my head spin in a circle
Over
and
Over
and
Over
again.
But I wonder, when did I lose this ability,
To enjoy writing?
I used to write stories.
Books. Proses. Poems.
Short stories. Journal Entries.
Thoughts. Desires. Wishes.
Hopes. Sorrows. I used to write.
And then it went away.
It's been gone.
And I miss it.
And I want it back.
I look at all my old writings.
And I realize, I once held some sort of talent.
I used to be happy enough to shove my writings in other people's faces.
I wanted their honest opinions. I wanted to hear them say,
"Damn, Kait. You should be an author."
Cause that's what they said. And I could tell they weren't lying.
They'd beg for more and I'd grant it.
Beg. Beg. Beg.
Give. Give. Give.
Both parties were happy.
And now what?
I don't pick up my blue pen.
Find my college rule notebook.
Let out my soul.
Not anymore.
Nah.
Now I just write whatever comes to mind.
But that needs to change.
Writing is a part of me I can't let go.
And I'm going to write until my fingers ******** bleed.
One day. One day. One day.
Millions of people will
Beg. Beg. Beg.
And then I'll
Give. Give. Give.
And both parties will be happy.
H
a
p
p
y
.
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Missa Defunctorum
praise the lost souls, it'll set yours free
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