I Need More Ink

Picture 3

Drip, drip, drip…

That is the sound of ink spilling from my veins as I clutch desperately to the reins of this flamboyant work of art, eerily similar to that of Mozart. I know Life is better with art in it, and that the earth is just “eh” without “art” in it. Staring at a blank page, seeing my reflection in its blatant nothingness; brainstorming on how to unfathomably craft some semblance of intelligence out of this most profound emptiness. Mind over matter, and I normally pay no mind to that which doesn’t matter. And yet in this peculiar moment my good old creativity is transfixed, like The Good Lord on a crucifix. For this predicament I’m afraid there is no quick fix, no red pill to awaken me from this elaborate Matrix. My mind is bleeding profusely, so much so that I cannot help but feel my aching heart cry. I find myself unable to write anymore, as if all of my ink has finally run completely dry.

Drip, drip, drip…I need more ink!

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