I used to have a reason to write

The words came easily

Even if they were filled with pain

Now I can barely muster up these

I can't find the rhythm

I can't find the words

To describe

Exactly how I feel

Because currently

As of right this second

I feel empty

I can't scrape the metaphors

From the back of my throat

Coughing them messily

Onto the paper before me

I can't create the structure

I can't build from the bottom up

I'm even struggling to find

The right words to use

In this measily little poem

I suppose that's how I feel

In regards to you

I've lost all ability

To have any stable structure

In my pathetic life

I have this hole in my chest

That I wish would just heal already

I'm sick of cleaning it out

I'm sick of the ache

The smell of festering flesh

I can't find the energy

To speak

Much less write

And it angers me

That you were able to do that

To me

How dare you take this away from me

How dare you tarnish

The one thing

I stupidly believed

Your greedy

Filthy

Disgusting

Fingers

Could never touch

How dare you

Ruin the one thing

I have left