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Description
forced words are spilling from my fingers and i can't help it,
it's my assignment.
take the crooked parts and try to make it fit like a stained glass, only it's more like a broken mosaic.
I'll take what i can though, if it's snippets of the past glory or a drop of my forgotten talent, some is enough.
They say you pick it up after enough practice but I think not.
Some things can't be regained.
You will never be as pure as you were before, your thoughts will never be the same as before, and so you're writing
will always be different, even if you have the same way to express them.
And there I go again.
I keep falling off the bike of literary thought and into logic.
That must be what has changed about me.
I'm lost in logic and can't find my way back to those winding and mellifluous gardens.

Description
forced words are spilling from my fingers and i can't help it,
it's my assignment.
take the crooked parts and try to make it fit like a stained glass, only it's more like a broken mosaic.
I'll take what i can though, if it's snippets of the past glory or a drop of my forgotten talent, some is enough.
They say you pick it up after enough practice but I think not.
Some things can't be regained.
You will never be as pure as you were before, your thoughts will never be the same as before, and so you're writing
will always be different, even if you have the same way to express them.
And there I go again.
I keep falling off the bike of literary thought and into logic.
That must be what has changed about me.
I'm lost in logic and can't find my way back to those winding and mellifluous gardens.