The dreams I have seem to be drifting away from me. Everyday it takes a step farther from where I stand and I watch them go without doing anything.
I am helpless. Words are running out. All the colors I had put into words are starting to drip off of the once beautiful painting I created.
I made myself believe I was a writer....
only to realize I'm not even as good as the ones who are out there.
I made myself believe I was good....
but really, it was just rotten luck I had a book published.
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