The organised chaos

Out of sorts

In passion and silence,
Every word, every line, a measure
It’s the science of the soul

These days, I don’t know who I am writing for or why I am writing or what I want to write.
It’s almost as if I am digging into something that’s running on empty. And when I write, I feel distinctly detached from the topic, almost as if my heart is not into it.

I don’t know why.
Does anyone even care, really?

It’s possibly irrational, my mind going all mush and emo on me. I have no opinions, no suggestions, no will and everything feels trite and shallow. Sometimes, the words can be bubbling in my brain when I am on the train and when I get home, it’s all but evaporated into nothing.

It’s like a well that’s dried up.

What happened?

Maybe it’s time to call it quits.