Inspo

Inspiration is a fickle thing.

It toys with my emotions.

Fool's spring,

it instills false confidence,

making me feel like I

could change the world,

sitting on my couch

in my flannel pants

days from a shower.

Driving home 

from a long day

you'd think I'd be tired

you'd think I'd want to pass out

but suddenly a wave of something 

nearly drowns me.

Drive.

Torrents of motivation suddenly

bound towards me

and at that moment,

I surf them, 

riding the highs, 

imagining my future in a perfect world.

No world is perfect

and no wave lasts forever.

The wave dribbles out,

sloshing against the 

dry shore of reality the

steaming sand of exhaustion,

writer's block,

musician's block,

mind block.

And then a few moments later,

I see another wave of inspiration 

coming my way

rolling over the foamy sea.

One might think I can see it

but the thing is,

my eyes are bad

and I'm not a surfer.

I can't anticipate the waves.

And therefore

I just don't know when they'll hit.