Pen on paper, no thoughts cone to mind,
As if when I look, they run and hide.
But when I’m busy or trying to sleep,
My thoughts start screaming. Arise from the deep.
Art cannot be forced, it cannot be farmed,
It cannot be taught, it cannot be harmed.
Inspiration will find you!
Like rope it will bind you.
One day you’ll be up in the fucking sky.
The next; you’ll be wanting to fucking cry.
Forget all your friends. Forgive all your enemies,
Because inspiration will consume all your energies.
Like this poem for example.