Sometimes it feels like that I am at the lowest of lows

My creativity's blocked, so I'm frantically jumping from poems to prose

Looking for the next topic whole day, everyday since I rose

Listening and reading is easier, but creating is what I chose

Production and consumption, creation and inspiration

Balancing them both on my toes

Fascination with other's works sometimes precedes the interest in my own's

Plus I want to be the best, so gotta keep switching up the tones

Stress-riddled with loans, it feels like I'm throwing stones

In a river that is filled with the old rotten bones

Of those who tried harder, but still failed to earn back their homes

I try to listen to the future, and all I hear are the groans and moans

Of those who I failed to serve, and how I must pay homage to their tombs.