It’s bottled up inside.

It’s either going to explode or eat me hollow within.

Not sure how to jump-start the purgation. I NEED to be creative. I WANT to be creative. I want to say something, make something, do something…

but nothing comes.

And I feel as though something of potential, something beautiful in its infancy is going to stagnate and rot inside me, polluting both my spirit, and itself.

Because I can’t even induce the slightest tremors of labor pains to birth this bit of wonder.

Or maybe I’m just fooling myself and there’s nothing in there, nothing in my heart or head, worth coming out, and what I’m feeling is the decay of myself… not of some nonexistant creativity that’s stifled or frustrated.

hmmmmmmmmm…