I'm writing you a letter today,
To tell you,
I can no longer live this way,
I can't write love songs anymore,
Where my muse sat,
Is merely empty now,
Hollow at the core,
The blooming blush of love I felt,
And passion stirring,
Deeper than my feeble human breast,
The inspiration I used to feel,
That almost made my heart,
Burst through my chest,
Gone,
It left with the hot winds,
That blew at night,
And used to fill my,
Feverish mind,
With endless dreams,
Of terror at the glaring beauty of the light,
But gave me comfort,
In the quieter embrace of night,
I've searched for days now,
The nights grow ever colder,
My pen sits unused,
My paper speckled with dust and tears,
For that which one was,
My well of creativity,
Has become a broken star,
A compilation of,
A writer's fears.
~Rei Shiori
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