Full of excuses, got myself thinkin’ I’m useless Distractions are ruthless, a nuisance Inaction so fluid, can’t help but sink in to it Titanic demons keep screamin’, they fiendin’, dreamin’ Monstrous titans wagin’ war, done this before Deamed victors seepin’ through the cracks beneath the door Came through the back whisperin’ “Jack we want more” Like shadows slidin’ ridin’ gaps in light and hidin’ in the dead of night They’re fightin’ tryin’ to stay alive inside…
Dark place with the glock aimed Ain’t a tame thought in the way Faced lead shots, taste great
Sippin’ at the glass filled with 9s I feel I might blast Trippin’ thinkin’ this moment is the last
Chill, it ain’t a crime to feel bad
But it’s like I’ve had more than enough time to go mad A rough road and grip slippin’ on the cut rope Stuck hope wishing, can’t cope If I go missin’ no one’ll know, the Earth won’t stop its roll
This ain’t a new feelin’ You’re just dealing with repressed demons They’re creepin’, keep seepin’ through the crack peekin’ Speakin’ to the your inner thoughts and your dreams that they haunt Intentions to freak you out when from the shadows they scream and shout Drought of the good days, dark thoughts replay They’ve plotted out what they’ll say and anticipate how you’ll behave It’s rouse, the truth is that good news lies at the end of the tunnel The struggle leads through a path of rubble A mountain and a climb, fighting evil the whole time Harpies and vultures, from time to time a poacher
Although I’ve never dealt with writers block, I do occasionally feel uninterested in what I create or creating in general. Creators depression if you will. When each word to land on the page feels empty and foreign. As if it fails to convey the intended message or emotion. Like trying to read a page through fog. Clarity is missing.
It’s times like these where thoughts feel hazy. When it’s least obvious what’s missing from the work is when it’s the most frustrating. The satisfaction of finding a hundred problems each sentence comes with the knowledge that you can jump in and fix it all. This is more like trying to…
Tragic the monotone hum, every five minutes like clockwork.
Distant souls roam going about their moments in the world below. Detached window view of time passing.
Loose tie and suit jacket off. Corner office. Total and complete success. I’ve succeeded my way right into a box. Removed from the social sphere and begging god to fling an asteroid my way and not warn me.
Five minute mark, the scanner hums and I’m ticking away at the keys. Clicking and scrolling and typing and scanning.
Ambient chit chat somewhere off in the pit of the building keeps the atmosphere just above silent.
Working but nowhere near present. Dreaming at the florescent bulbs more powerful than the sunlight that beams through the window. Trees and birds, likely not much farther than the ones directly outside. Reality is only revisited when looking to see what number the little hand points at.
Making green to let strangers more clever than I hoard it in a private bank to avoid it getting stolen by anyone other than the owner of the bank. I pay for that individual to have the exclusive rights to use my money how they want while I wait for 5pm. Pay for their vacations and their hookers while I sift through spread sheets. Twelve hour work days to assure someone will have zero hour work weeks.
At least my watch is more expensive than the entire common household annual income. Nothing but the freedom to stare at my wrist and realize I’ve only begun the day.