Writer’s short block


I’m on a room full of books

All these words that I can not use

All these thoughts that make me feel jealous

All these ideas that I found pointless

All these beliefs that I don’t want for me

They all are whispering to me

They all are laughing at me

Just because I was never good with words

I never found the right words to say how I felt

I was never able to write a good story

You know? The kind of story that makes the reader’s heart pump louder after the end

There are too many words on these books and I’m acquainted with too few

If I just can come up with something beautiful and pure

But then again, words are just lifeless spots of ink in our minds

They are not the bird’s chant nor the sunset’s colored shade

Words can be beautiful, but only existence is meaningful…


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