To Do What You Love

Words don’t flow when they need too, Thoughts crumple to a halt. I sit by the window feeling blue, Telling my messed-up brains ‘you’re at fault’. Looking down at the little piece of paper, It’s still white as snow; I feel more miserable For what I adore is now a foe. I try again; it’s one last shot: To pen down my thoughts, on that little piece of paper. My hands shiver, moves slow But ceases to a stop, refusing to go beyond that dot. While all my thoughts vanish like vapor.