Senseless

Writing senseless things seems to be the current itch of mine as of late. The irresistible currency that seems to leave me uncomfortable when I am done writing and when time doesn't permit me to get to pen and paper, and or here, I seem to lose partial bits of my sanity into the abyss that's been eating me for the past few weeks. I just am not sure what is there left to think, analyze let alone write and talk about. Everything is out there, flown like a wounded bird, halfway soaring through with heavy wings that no longer could carry it with it's broken pride and broken goals to fly across the Atlantic. Within this unhappiness, there is absolutely nothing left to think about and nothing to feel. Just what is it that I am trying to get out of me...that even I am not sure.

I've been meaning to write poetry, these few lines have strung together that keeps repeating in my head over and over again, but I haven't gotten the true inspiration and motivation to actually sit down and write those few lines and possibly that will become several poems that will eventually end up draining me emotionally. I just don't feel like I have anything left in me, which is counter intuitive to detrimentally block my own creative expression and productiveness.