(no subject)
I don't think the words will ever flow through me like they used to. I have let this gift, like so many other, lay fallow. This ground has not been worked in far too long and I fear it shall never lead to a yield again. Even if it could, what would I say?
I have no songs of love, no poems of hope. Hell, I don't even have any vignettes of regret anymore. I have sang them all, read them all, drawn them all. I have spent far too long spinning wool, never intending on making a sweater.
I don't know where I am heading. I barely remember where I have been. Too all I have met along the way, sorry for the hint of promise. I know it was just a tease.
I have no songs of love, no poems of hope. Hell, I don't even have any vignettes of regret anymore. I have sang them all, read them all, drawn them all. I have spent far too long spinning wool, never intending on making a sweater.
I don't know where I am heading. I barely remember where I have been. Too all I have met along the way, sorry for the hint of promise. I know it was just a tease.