So there's this dilemma I have with writing. I want to write but I can't. It's because all the ideas start drifting away. They don't want me anymore. They despise me. They loathe me. Then my vocabulary goes along with it. I'm growing dumber by the minute and it scares me. Gone were the days when ideas start pouring in and out of my head as if they were breakfast. Trouble is I don't eat breakfasts. I was always a morning crammer. Sometimes I even forget to take a shower or else I'll be late for class. And still I'm late for class. I arrive, quiz is over. End of my career.
Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.