By Synthia Tashfi
These days I am empty of words,
Scribbling away into nothingness,
Pen striking out lines like a sword.
How will I survive in the business,
Of creation and of making what's yours?
I am devoid of originality,
Spewing out only details that bore.
How can I ever hold an audience,
When I can't even hold my own interest anymore?
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