Unpredictability of creatives
The burden, sometimes, carried with ease
Heavy as the stars, sometimes light as a breeze
Some days each word spoken is great and profound
And others, within the chains of language and ambition one is bound

Each paint stroke makes a masterpiece, with good, sunny luck
At times, every attempt at draughtsmanship just plainly sucks
Consistent quality comes, with time and skill
Bad days will come, and haunt you still

When words waste away, in catacombs of the brain
When with pretty pictures, no serotonin will you gain
These days will pass, I console myself
Drowning myself in media, and the books on my shelf

Hoping, praying, with undulated fear
That the bad days will end,
instead of sucking all motivation and cheer