There is such a thing...
That gap of emotionless time
Where there is no inspiration.
As I sit to pen about life,
I can say, "The night was cold,"
Yet, there is no feeling, no emotion
In the music anymore,
And the vast, bottomless ocean
Has lost all it's meaning,
But even worse than the fates themselves...
I don't even know why.
It could only be because of someone,
Someone gone, yet never here.
Perhaps this someone is dear to me,
Yet I barely know her.
There is no way out of this game.
You must fight your way in,
And pray you are never let out.
Chances are all you can ask for here,
But what is a chance?
If it is a cry for love in itself,
Why doesn't crying mean more?
Perhaps a chance is a question;
A question of trust and inspiration.
And now that love is gone,
There is no inspiration,
Only plain, quiet words
To help remember the memories...
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