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Description
I've bitten my nails
down to the bones
in my wrists.

I can't write anymore.

I scratched my skin
down to my organs,
now punctured
and bruised.

I can't talk anymore.

I combed my hair
to the scalp,
then continued
scraping away at
my lack of imagination.

I can't think anymore.

I coughed up
the contents of my lungs,
and then my lungs themselves.

Because I can't breathe anymore.

I've filed for leave
from this creativity
I'm supposed to have.

Because it escaped me long ago,
and I've just been lying
ever since.

Description
I've bitten my nails
down to the bones
in my wrists.

I can't write anymore.

I scratched my skin
down to my organs,
now punctured
and bruised.

I can't talk anymore.

I combed my hair
to the scalp,
then continued
scraping away at
my lack of imagination.

I can't think anymore.

I coughed up
the contents of my lungs,
and then my lungs themselves.

Because I can't breathe anymore.

I've filed for leave
from this creativity
I'm supposed to have.

Because it escaped me long ago,
and I've just been lying
ever since.