Uninspired.

Gotten away from that plain, dreary, mundane town.
Desolate lands with dead-end roads.

Excitement was what it lacked the most.

Now I reside in a noisy, unsettling, unpleasant metropolis.
Irritating engine sounds of motorbikes as they pass by.
suffocating subways next to bustling boulevard.

Where people secretly yearn for a release.

At times the most colorful streets lights and graffiti art still leave me feeling empty.
Between heatwaves and summer days, I am numb and bored.
Meandering through the crowded lanes, I have seen and done it all.

The city left me completely and utterly uninspired. 

There's no worse emotion than deprivation of inspiration.
An invisible force that's blocked my source of creativity.
As if my mind is a pond being drained of its last drop of water,
A borderline withering rose desperately clings on its last shred of beauty.

Trepidation mixed with anxiety served up like a cup of bitter tea,
difficult to swallow.

Bordem and exhaustion are like yesterday's stale lunch,
makes my stomach turn.

Trying to find something worth writing about amongst it all,
Turning boredom into a source of inspiration,
Perhaps I could manage to squeeze out a few sagacious and interesting words after all.