Whiskey and Manuka Honey

Tend to help the creative side of me

Oh! Feeling a bit Hemingway today

There’s no point trying to fight it, I always say.

Empty shells fresh from their cylinder cells

Cold hard steel

It is all that I feel.

Hazy thoughts and mixed emotions

Wishing my tea was some kind of potion

To break the spell

To break me out of my self-inflicted hell.

Distant, I am. So far away —

I am a rope — frayed

A chip in a cup

A rip in the seam

Unraveling

Remnants of parts to an old whole