Constant distraction, no sense of direction, no motivation.
I can't get used to this, yet it still lures me in.
This fruit is not yet ripe, yet we continue to strip the vine.

Creative droughts never harvest words.
These things get easier with time.
I grind my teeth subconsciously every evening till I fall asleep.

This lack of clarity still follows me in my dreams.
Shrouded in secrecy I cried an ocean to the page with no one to listen to me.
I drown beneath the waves.

I'll lock myself in a box of doubt in the hopes that one day it will let me out.
Alone with no one to listen,
I drown in my own waves.

I dug my own grave.
Same old story.