The Chain Doesn’t Last Forever or One Day You’ll Be Brilliant

I know writer’s block

But it has nothing to do with writing

Between the pen and the page

The are no limits

It’s the outside world that creeps in

Creating these blocks

It’s the anxiety

That explodes the heart in your chest

The dynamite that keeps blasting

And blasting away

Until there are just splinters of wood

And a blackened hull

The are what ifs and if onlys

That cloud your mind like a fog

Causing you to walk down a

Million different paths blindly

Each ending in its own heartbreak and nightmare

Even though these things pin my hand

Gripping my pen and swipe the paper

And dilute my mind

When they pass

These are the things stories are born from


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