Inrespiration (Inspired to Breathe)

Crumpled block.
Found my thoughts.
It's writing season.
But i am not fond of the weather.

I've been walking so much with my mind.
City blocks upon writer's blocks.
With perfect words that escape as soon as they've startled.

Showering me with perfect lines.
Hands too wet to write.
Too soaked to type.
The towel will dry,
The words right off my fingers.

Yet here i am.
They are what they are.
They are.

To pour my soul.
Into a glass of pessimism.
Yet here i am.

Half empty.
But my words flow into this reservoir.
Unedited.
So we may visit them more to extinguish this infernal thirst.

Brain was sore.
But she healed.
Feet are sore.
Still...

Nomadic thoughts upon a caravan of titles.
Overused words with diminished vocabulary.
Don't describe an oasis again.

But still i write.
Still i write.
As everything comes to me.
Like therapy.
As i look reupon my library with shrugs.

Just glad that ideas are forming.
And they do so because of her.
Before, my pen held not an inkling.

Now, feels like graphic graphite.
Free to play with words.
I play for her.

I have found so much.
I have found my words.
I have found my future.
I have found inspiration to breath once more.