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You know those days where you sit down
And you try to write – something – anything –
Because you feel an urge, a need, an obligation to?
But it's almost like you physically can't?
And then there are those mornings
Where you just feel tired but you know you should write
And you take a seat and nothing coherent comes to mind?
Just blah, blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah, blah?
And then there are those evenings
Where you are so ecstatic your soul feels like
It's going in a million different directions along with your words?
And your strokes cannot keep up with your mind?
And then there are those nights
Where you are at your lowest of your lows
And you don't want the tears to smudge the ink
And the blood soaked edges to alarm anyone?
And then there are those moments
Where you sit down
And it just comes to you
And the words pour out like liquid silver
Literary alchemy – it's magic
Like it didn't even come from you
You know the feeling