The Ink dries out

I try to pen some words
on my black Moleskine.
The words are too slow to come out.
And when they do
They feel robotic,
almost tiresome.
There is something that is
gnawing away at me.
My heart and mind are entangled
in a scrap as feelings and thoughts
fight it out leaving me in an impasse.
I feel inhibited almost imprisoned
in an invisible and yet concrete shell.
The Past and future meet and the
present is passed over.
That’s what happens
when the ink dries out.

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