The stream of ideas ceases to flow,

And now I don’t know,

If my thirst will be quenched.

Creativity, once abundant,

Now eaten by the rats,

And starve me frail for endless days.

My brain lies thin and weak,

And I stare at what once was mine,

In the screen of my mind.

I grow ill over time,

Ill of waiting for the cash,

That buys me an idea,

Motivation and nutrition.

(I THINK I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK AND I HATE IT 😭😭 MY BAD IF THIS SUCKS)