Despite my wishes to overcome this mess of a painful phase, I cannot help but fall deeper into depression. Now, I only wish to reach the pit faster than the claws of longing. I must start to write once again, and my Muse shall be reborn, just like then.
Curse of Doom
Breathless, I leave you tied in your room,
Unable to withstand, or even to bloom.
And unto you, I set a curse of gloom,
That which condemns you to eternal doom.
Now and then, I grant you freedom to go,
Yet you remain puzzled and refuse to flow.
I thought your intellect was just slow,
But you proved me wrong with your glow --
It broke through all, and gave you will,
However, a story, you still cannot tell.
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