Oh.

My touch is gone
It will likely come back
But for now until dawn
My writing skill cracks

I'm trying to make something to prove I am here
To remind all of my presence
To ensure that it's clear
To enslave my essence
For everyone to hear

I'm going on now
To prove that I can
But the only word I can think of that rhymes is cow

This feels like something a child would write
No verse, no structure, it's so late at night

My artistic hand has flourished and grown
But all at the cost of my "brilliant" prose

Fixated on lines, colors, and light
But I fear once again, I can no longer write.