strange emptiness (of inspiration)

     feeling freed after staying sick
        was an illusion – a twisted trick
     fasting calmed down the dialectic debate
        but lightening caused a paradoxical weight
     still feeling ill
        waiting and writing to get cured, (redis)balanced, and filled

cannot guess where I do go
without thoughts pushing me to write them down
lost in some kind of desert I don't know
but starting this just makes me drown

into a very strange emptiness
somehow pleasant by calming former stirs
but challenging at the same time and causing stress
until I write without a guess of being here

what is real in that state of strain
worried by a missing mental force
but searching for something to train
the torturing urge to show up once more

to fill me with a sharing voice
a knowledge reflecting other ways to see
to be enlivened by a strange disturbing noise
evolving   by
                   liquidating
                                  structural
                                               density

a lilac lizard lady
                         a spaced out silver snake
                                                           a dazed demonic dragon
shady
            womandrake

hybrid creatures tend to grow
into a temple of sunlike pyramids we all seem to know

                                                remembering the déjà vu, I reckon?

(temporally)
                                      feeling freed...
                                                                                        again