sometimes
I find myself
sitting cross-legged
on the frozen cement
of my garage,
chain-smoking
one cowboy killer
after the other
until the whole
damn pack
is gone…
(because I can’t face
my empty notebook--
can’t accept that I simply
don’t have anything
to write anymore)
and when I
find myself
awake
at three in
the morning
shaking,
trembling,
and coping with
the painful
hacking
of young
blackened
lungs
I wonder if
(maybe) now
I’ll be able to
think of something
worthwhile
Author notes
my struggle.
In a list
♥
Comments
-
Beautiful write Brit. It spoke to me of how I feel about writing - how it almost becomes an addiction to feel that release and when it doesn't come you just feel like shit. Wonderful job as usual.
-
oh aren't you just gorgeous?!?!
loved it dear. ♥ -
You leave me speechless too many times.
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