Writer's block

 Saturday 26th January 2019:

Words used to be my weapon of choice, now it feels like they are the poison that is slowly killing me. Coursing through me, getting more toxic with each cycle, trapped within, because I can't find the right order in which to release them...

Even now I don't know what more to say. But the tension in my body continues to grow as my mind is shouting in frustration at me for not draining the poison from my veins. The urge to burst the dam and let it all out is like a painful itch under the skin that nothing can reach, but the more you superficially try to scratch at it the worse the pain gets.

The frustration in my heart turns to physically accumulated burdensome pressure in the muscles in my back. My posture forced to represent the heaviness in an attempt to make me notice the internal turmoil I've begun to accept as normal.

A sigh is all I can muster as a form of expression; a scream is what lays just beneath the surface - the next thing to force it's way out. But with each sigh I hope to force the scream down... to hold out losing control. Instead, I dampen what remains of my firey spirit.

The warrior within me is dying. No war cry, no prime scream, not even tears... Instead just a sigh. All I can do is sigh.