It's no surprise that I'm up at one a.m. trying to write, but the surprise is that I cannot seem to write anything that I want to. I blame it on the lack of practice, more than the lack of idea. I have plenty to write about, plenty going on in my head that I need to get out on paper before I go insane. But it doesn't want to come...
For years I wrote on a weekly basis, sometimes more. Notebooks are full of lyrics, song after song full of my memories and my life, neatly organized into carefully phrased lines, ready for music. But tonight, it is all just a jumbled mess of mixed up feelings that cannot seem to even make enough sense to be written down... love, pain, dreams... and I'm lost in the middle of it all. I have not written in so long that I have let it all pile up in my head, and so I guess that was the mistake.
Now, even with the newest and best inspiration I have had in months, it is all still to much of a mess to make out.
The fix? I still do not know. Maybe a vacation to somewhere where life is more at peace, and I can actually hear my heart think, or speak, or cry, or whatever it needs to do.
"He picked up a bottle but it's not the first time.
Most of these days it's the only peace he finds.
Flooded by his misery, drowning in her dreams,
It's easier for him to stay, than fight the current that carries him away.
But when the bottle dries, and the numb subsides,
He's still sinking."
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