The urge to write is so strong.
Where have my words gone?
They’re tucked away in a layer of dust with every bad intention I’ve ever had. Swallowed by insecurity, they are scratching my throat as they dangle in my esophagus. They are hiding like cowards in weak nouns and subpar adjectives.
Uninspired. It sounds like a curse.
I’ve never written anything more than I have in these bouts of writer’s block, but they’re never words I can be proud of. They have been used by the world before. They are stitched together with lazy conjunctions and lost in yesterday’s adverbs.