hellsforheroes

I guess this is a writers block. I guess this is the flip side of a block. I feel like a king, with nothing to rule. I feel like a daisy without any soil. I feel like a hawk without just three blind mice. I am a starving dynasty. I am a craving fancy. I am two left feet. I am the fattest ass on a broken seat. I feel like the addiction of remission, like the concentration of camps, like the burning of afternoon lamps. I am futility, I am wasted effort. I am the sun on a day full of clouds. I am a sun on a day full of thick puffy, dreamy, imagination filled shrouds. I feel like a hazard compared to rough. I feel like the noise background noise needing to shut off. I feel disturbed. I feel like every time I reach any sort of fucking zone, it gets wrecked. I am a boat on a lake with big fucking sails, and no wind. I am car without gasoline, sparkplugs, or oil. I am finished with this. Sh#t. F@ck.