You’re lazy. The ink in the pen has dried up.
A roaring tide of grey shadows dances upon the flower of my soul, trampling it. No flame is kindled upon the embers, on the old bed of scattered ashes. It has flown away on the wind. It has gone elsewhere. To a place where it is cherished, cradled among wistful dreams. Oh, Inspiration, do not leave me; guide my hand and write through it. Give me food, give me drink! I am starving. I am thirsty. Without you I crumble into dust. Do not leave me alone! Without dreamscapes, I will die. I promise I will stay with you. I love you! I will not let you go. You lure me, you intoxicate me, yet I do not interest you, nor do I deserve you.
You’re lazy. The ink in the pen has dried up.