Isle 7
It's hard to write anymore with this constant, nagging pain always distracting me.
I walk through this garden of language, trying carefully to pick the perfect adjectives
to describe my here and now, but all the ingredients to create my culinary written
masterpieces, are becoming rows of unmarked boxes. The once open marketplace of
fresh ideas has changed into an awkward 7/11 at 2:00 AM, as I hastily grab whatever
cheap words I can find left on the shelves. The eloquence has been replaced by the
ordinary, and I find the art of self expression becoming increasingly difficult as I am
reduced to using the discounted words on Isle 7, amongst all those horrible clichés...
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