She writes..... erases.
She types..... backspaces
Words don't come like they used to
Litterature is a language she once spoke fluently.
And now she has forgotten,
Forgotten the freedom and the beauty
In which she used to find at the tip of a pencil.
Forgotten the pride she acheived after each poem.
Words were like open doors, letting the pain free.
Now it's only bottled up, tangled in a huge knot.
It's not like she hasn't tried opening the bottle.
She has, many times in fact.
Failing to write a single word.
She starts with a blank page and gives up with a blank page.
Soon enough it will flow out like a waterfall
And it will hit her hard and fast. Throwing her to the ground
Her paper will be drowning with words.
Not the beautiful ones that could sing someone to sleep
No. Words like screams that could wake the dead.