Burnout

I. ZERO

My writing is questioned every single day. People always ask me why I used a specific lyric or a melodic motive to add to a piece.

Who or what do I write about? Why do I write? How do I come up with ideas? Have I ever actually written while sober? I always have the same answer for them. How can all of these questions have the same answer?

I sit down at my computer to write countless melodies, chord progressions, and lyrics that topically range from women to politics, but what I do comes from a place deep inside me. It could be anger. Some call it joy. Others may call it loneliness. I don't really know. I do know that burning out is what my life has come to.

It has become habitual to me. I hop up onto my bed. My hot laptop rests on my crossed legs with a bottle of rum that sits by my side through love and war. I stare at the blank page on my computer hoping for a melody to just appear. Just a little melody. Just something to trigger my insanity and turn it into something positive.

I sit and look at the blank screen. Unmotivated. Unmoved by whatever memories come into my head. Lost in my own way. I haven't written anything that makes me proud of myself in years. Music and poetry used to mean something to me. Now it just sits in front of me. It teases me as it remains free of any substantial thought.

The sun still rises and sets on a daily basis while life remains still. The scenery remains the same, but the people change. I don't like change. It is inevitable. It's something that I have come to accept.