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There are times it feels like the well is dry. Words are meaningless. There are times it feels like the well is dry. Words do not make sense. There are times it feels like the well is dry because I find no words at all.

There are times words rattle around my restless brain but they cannot find one another. They do not connect. They overlap in mixed up confusion. The well is dry.

Words are fleeting. Old ideas don’t make sense anymore and new ones do not surface. The well is dry. Words repeat themselves as if stuck in a loop. The well is dry.

My words have no vision. They are myopic. I lack imagination. The well is dry.

There are times I feel l like I am writing with dry ink. A blank page stares back at me. The well is dry.

Scribble. Erase. Scribble. Erase. Scribble. Erase. The well is dry.

My words are aimless, drifting. My ideas are insignificant. I cannot think. I am disorganized. The well is dry. Everything I write is trivial, repetitive and uninspired.

The well is dry.

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