Wordless

When I wrote in the letter in the blue envelope that I didn't think I could be a writer anymore, that was just because my finesse didn't compare to that of my favourite writers. But now, I think I've actually lost it. I spent all day trying to write. I can't even rhyme anymore. I have ideas, I've just lost my words. They're not my words, I don't know why I call them that. I've lost the words. And that scares me a lot because writing is how I survive. Suffering from chronic boredom. I need new experiences, I need to do things I've never done before. Like the cuckoo's nest. Not that that really provided me with any writing material. I don't know what's gone wrong. Everything's all mixed up, it's all too still. I feel cold, hard, flat. I'm not enjoying this. And I don't even know how to fix it. None of the music is what I want to hear. Everything feels very wrong. That's the only way I can explain it. Everything is wrong without words. Agitated.