Blackout

I write about the fact that I don't write
I write about the fact that I feel like I'm a blank page
Searching for sentences that will never arrive
To this messed up destiny that is my head inside.

 
I've let myself believe that the river of ideas
Would continue to flow
And so I surrendered to ideals
That have always been afloat

And yet I ignored what should have been a cry-out for attention
From my gift that were stunning words that now deceive
But it was not an intention
To let this self die in mislead.
 

And so I write about the fact that I don't write anymore
Because it is undeniably true.
I've let my walls fall to the floor
But why do I keep feeling so blue?
 

The smoke finds its way to my lungs
And I happily drug myself with the nicotine
It would be faster if I rode with the guns
But I'm not capable of killing a soul that is so unforeseen.