i miss when I could write, elegantly and creatively, when the words flowed from my finger tips in rhythmic patterns of pain and beauty. now my sentences run together, making poems and prose than leave the reader confused, and the artist exhausted. i can’t say what i feel and no longer feel what i say. the thoughts are no longer tangible, the meaning far from arms reach, and i’m backed up, filling with frustration, about to explode. i just want to express how i feel without the constant road blocks, i want to be able to see the road ahead instead of choke on the fog that is filling my brain. the emotion runs strong even though the literature is clogging up my veins.