sleepy thoughts, this may not make sense to those who have not experienced such a feeling

 

i am seated outside on my balcony because i believe it will help inspire me to write something new. 

news flash: it does not.

       instead, i sit frustrated and melancholic.

the sky, generally, is beautiful.

tonight, however, it is nothing special.

it is the sky. it is just the sky.

it has always just been the sky.

it is plain. it is empty. it is dark. 

                                       it is ordinary.

the sky is not decorated with stars tonight.

                             there hardly ever are any stars… 

it is cold. it is cold, but not overwhelmingly so.

     i can bare this: the cold touch of night.

                i watch as a couple exit their car and walk inside… they     do not walk together [maybe they will inspire me to write]… 

                 i feel so alone and… so tired.

so f**king tired.

 i feel like crying. i want to cry.

    i cannot cry. let me cry.

   let me let go.

   let me let it out…

                         please… f**king please…

i stare at my book. [the book laid flat in my lap.]

                         i fight the urge to stab the book and rip its pages with my pen… i want to destroy it.

       i want to write so badly, yet i cannot find it in me to create anything.

              there are people looking forward to me creating something new.

                                        there are people expecting me to create something new.

something great.

            can i create something great? can i even create something good?