Writers Block 2.0

I want to write, I really do

But when my heart left my body my soul separated too.

My mind caught a flight and somehow got lost in the clouds,

And my feet only seem to travel to places where I’m not allowed.

My hands choose to knock at doors that will never open over grabbing a pen,

Because pens feel like blades that open wounds on already bruised up skin.

Daily injections of reposado to keep the demons away,

Being that poison is the only protection for me to get through a day,

But through each day I continue to get.

Pushing through pain and hit after hit.

One day maybe I’ll find all the right words to say,

And hopefully I’ll figure out who I am along the way.