The colors faded from my eyes “I better start writing,” I was full of lies. Day by day, It was only me waiting Of that sudden burst of inspiration, Motivation. Here’s a confession:
I tried to fill each line with rhymes, But it was nothing but a waste of time Writing no longer spark. It started blending with the dark
I believe that a writer dies twice— once when they’ve stopped writing, and this first death is the more painful.
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