I haven’t written anything in what seems like forever, but I don’t really have anything to write about.
I’m not doing anything. Nothing is driving me. Nothing is exceptional in my life. Nothing is going on. I’m in a paddle boat on an expansive sea of sub-par existence.
But that’s not entirely true. It’s not as if I’m not having a good time having nothing to worry about. I see my friends, we hang tough, we have fun, we listen to good tunes. But that’s it. That’s my life. I always had something in the back of my mind that sparked thoughts or sparked emotions or sparked something, but no longer. I am sparked my nothing. I’ve hit a wall in the road of inspiration. My heart cracks and moans in its dryness and aches for water to be poured onto it so that it may breath, but no water ever comes.
I haven’t written a song in what seems like an eternity. There is no muse.