The wake of a writer
There were days when by merely holding a pen, the banks of words within burst, and streams unending ran through.
Now, even the will to hold it fails, and when I do, it's a tempest, chaos everywhere, waves so strong that they drown the words, before they form.
...
Now, even the will to hold it fails, and when I do, it's a tempest, chaos everywhere, waves so strong that they drown the words, before they form.
...