Every time
Every word
Prepared and crafted with care
Smoothly sailing in sculpted lines
This is what I meant to say
This is what I meant to portray
But dry and dull and drawn
All I have done
Has withered with the time
Has faded into
What I call failure
Can I escape this feeling of guilt?
This ruthless sense of incompetence?
This overwhelming sense of unworthiness?
Am I meant to wallow here, too afraid?
To fail again
To fall again
To cry again
That I won’t even say what needs be said
Smoothly sculpted sailing lines of words
Have scattered in this broken breeze.

{written a while ago. just found it}