Thus, I emerged

Creation

I used to create
words flowing out of my fingertips
building worlds existing in my head
with pieces from the depths of my soul
without anyone having a clue

I used to be a creator
A semi-God of my characters
playing them as a puppet master does
commanding every move, blowing in every emotion, feeling
Bringing them to life

Now everytime I pick up a pen
I fail midway, in the beginning, before even starting
I feel hollow, not being able to produce something magnificent from all the pain

I used to create
but these days my fingertips are bruised
My mind is blocked
And I wish someone would blow life back into me the way I used to
Preferably, leaving the puppet-strings behind
to finally set me free