To soon it ends.
All doors close.
Melodramatic much, I wouldn't know.
Time progress, I haven't rest.
...
Mutilation of words is poetry.)
Why I Can'T Write.
An empty blank page. No inspiration, my thoughts vanquished, empty, no determination. Pondering my mind, the keyhole to insanity. Coming up with nothing to venture into. Set, set your time. We waste it with nothingness. My typewriter broke, thank goodness for me being remote.