To Do What You Love
Words don’t flow when they need too,
Thoughts crumple to a halt.
I sit by the window feeling blue,
Telling my messed-up brains ‘you’re at fault’.
Looking down at the little piece of paper,
It’s still white as snow;
I feel more miserable
For what I adore is now a foe.
I try again; it’s one last shot:
To pen down my thoughts, on that little piece of paper.
My hands shiver, moves slow
But ceases to a stop, refusing to go beyond that dot.
While all my thoughts vanish like vapor.
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