Don’t Want My Fix

Twenty-four hours of the day I'm free, and seven days of the week my plans are empty. The most freedom I've ever had, and not a damn thing I want to do, I'm going mad. I love to create, but there's not a single thing I want to make. I like to write, but my brain's gone utterly blight.

Damn.

I must be depressed.

Too down to even try.