But lately,
She's just wasting time.
Seconds.
Minutes.
Hours.
Days.
Of not thinking,
Enough.
Or of thinking,
Too much.
Lately,
She's just wasting time.
Still recovering.
From something,
That struck her-
Core.
Waiting.
For the inspiration,
That usually comes,
By now.
Waiting.
For her thoughts,
To become words,
That make sense.
Planning.
For a future.
That seems too far,
Away.
Crying.
Over nothing.
Losing sleep.
Over nothing.
Lately,
She's just wasting time.
And she doesn't know,
Why.
Maybe this time..
The hole she dug,
Is too deep..
To pull herself out of.
And honestly..
She's scared.
Of all this,
Nothing.
YOU ARE READING
The Words of a Person
PoetryMy words. Typed. As if- They could ever be called- Neat. *WARNING* Life is fucked up- So I guess I am too.
