Numb

Nothing inspires me anymore. One day you wake up and you're no longer a kid, it's not that easy...to write about anything and nothing. Now I feel this responsibility, I guess you could call it, to write about something meaningful and important, but why? Who defines these things? I was looking over some of the old stories and plays and poems I use to write, so simple. I was happy then. I wrote because it made me happy, and it was just that, this feeling that made it seem like everything was beautiful. But now, now that reality has taken these things away from me, I feel lost. I've become numb, I've become this way to survive. My feelings were everything to me once, I felt everything, it was my power. I was all emotion, I was poetry. If I left myself open like this now, the world would kill me. I felt all of the sadness of the world once, but that was the last thing I felt. I need to escape this place.