14 – error404: title not found

awful days like these, my brain simply stops working.

it’s a lacklustre string of poetry, an unfinished verse here and there, a crudely-constructed metaphor that even i can’t begin to understand. it’s desperately needing to write, but also not wanting to, somehow. it’s like liquid frustration in a glass bottle.

(see what i mean?)

usually, my creativity is in perfect synchrony with my depression. it’s almost as if every part of my system is also very much willing to expel whatever repressed bullshit is running through my head, and within good reason. i find morbid inspiration in mourning, and writing becomes a whole lot easier for me.

but when it starts going against me like this, fighting hard and fighting long until it gets exhausted and ultimately walks away—and now i feel as if there’s a stopper lodged between my hand and the pen—that’s when everything else in my overthinking subconscious completely goes to hell.

it’s basically being sad without benefits.

such a disgusting thought, isn’t it?

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s