The void inside of me growing and growing with each breath I take.
I inhale and exhale,
Trying to calm the panic rising in my throat,
as the world seems to close in on me.
I thought it was over.
I filled the glass up again,
only to knock it over again.
The ocean of ideas,
that used to roar in my head,
Reduced to a dry desert.
I can't write,
Haven't picked up a pen in months
This very poem becoming a struggle.
Thought I was done,
That I could finally settle down and finish the year.
But now I'm empty,
A world full of ideas gone with the snap of their fingers.
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