Days blend in together when you have no desire to find.
When everything is screaming at you to be something, do something that will make you even remotely human, but all you can manage is just … blink, and that's it.
I have been in the studio, and I have been staring at my monitors, willing for anything, a word, inspiration … anything, I will take anything at this point, to just come and make me feel a twinge of inspiration.
The urge to write, to create, is clawing at me. I want.
I want so much.
But there is nothing for me.
If inspiration were a well, mine has dried up, and all I am left with is a dry hole. And yet I sit by the edges, looking down at the darkness, willing for something.
Anything.
There is nothing.
I can't remember what day it is, how much I have been in here, and I don't think I have to in me to even get out. It's in the deep recesses of my mind that I am falling.
