Writer’s block

I was searching for you in my dreams,
Still, no signs after a thousand years of hunting,
My eyes are still pondering through the empty sheets,
And the worn-out pen in my hand is done trying.

A troop of words is approaching,
Stories are mixed up with another set of stories,
And although I did want to write something,
The caffeine I slurped is not yet sinking in.

The thoughts are behind grounds,
Hiding in the pompous fence of my expressions,
I already disobeyed all the rules there is,
But something tells me there’s a lot more to contravene.

Where are you? The subject of my next piece,
I already lost myself under the dazzle of impassive twilight,
With a head crowded with scribbled memories and thoughts,
And a brain that couldn’t particularly function right.

The night has passed, nothing yet,
The sky still weeps in sweat amidst a sunny morning,
Papers are scattered against the blank uninspired wall,
Either waiting to be filled or torn apart.

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