Estranged

I haven’t felt as inclined to write as,
I once have. Time slipped betwixt
my fingers, or rather my fingers
repelled the keys beneath them-
either way
I feel estranged from the page.

I cannot decide whether me writing
now, is a sign of weakness, like I
got better, but now that I sleep
less, my mind has wandered to
places that have
gathered more dust than I had thought.

That the ink I am spilling, is a symbol
of slipping, that my mind may be
detaching from what was good for a
split second, I swear it was
good.
I was good.

But questioning myself makes me
think I am no longer in a place of
hope. That what once was good
is now broke? Did I lose it or is it
simply gone?
Can it come back…

I haven’t felt as inclined to write as,
I once have. 2 months of quiet.
I slipt and spilt ink on those empty pages today.
I still feel estranged from the page.