I realize it now,
I only wrote when I was sad.
Night after night
Glaring at my screen
Fingers pressed gently on the keys
Desperate for inspiration
I have found peace
And with it, lost my creativity
My thoughts no longer crush my chest
No longer turn my fingers blue
No longer drain the color from my eyes
No longer make me tired and cold
So there is nothing left to write.
I realize it now,
I only painted when I was aching.
Morning after morning
Balancing tubes between my fingers
Eyes on dewy canvases
Hungry for reason
I have found silent solace
And with it, lost my muse
My pain no longer crushes contours
No longer bursts into maroon flames
No longer spills into stagnant blues
No longer crawls into muted yellows
So there is nothing left to paint.
I realize it now,
Agony was my muse,
Now an assistance that I refuse.
