i'm writing for the sake of it.
the "poet" in me feels guilty.
but the verses rise and fall
before i can shape them.
they shy away from these papers.
they shy away from me..
the words aren't friends anymore.
only the void seems to be my mate.
i'm writing 'coz i want to.
but the river's not flowing anymore.
its waters are trapped
in an unseen, unknown dam.
then, suddenly, they'll flood!
what binds then, is hidden.
what can set them free,
i know not of.
is this a poem?
i feel not.
is this a verse?
it seems not.
its just a helpless wailing
over failed attempts.
just an inexplicable disgust
over broken thoughts.
i write for the sake of these...
i write,
for i can't stop...
