Pointing the Finger

i was a dreamer and a romantic. i wouldn't admit it to anyone. my sarcastic and dry humor doesn't allow a lot of room for a dreamer's mentality, or the emotions of a romantic but i was both. i thought about my future, i had a whimsical aura. everything was in place. until it wasn't. until i was left without dreams and without love. until you broke me. now i have nothing to say. historically, i've tried to talk less, i've tried to think less. now i just am. i try and write about something, anything but, nothing fits. (even this paragraph seems forced to me). i want to have that fire back in my soul, that mentality in my head that keeps me writing. the voice has been put on mute though. you pressed the button, you blew out my fire. i'll find it again i'm sure. but my wall is up and it's thicker than you could believe. i kept trying and trying before you. for right now, there's no more trying. for right now there's only empty thoughts and meaningless stares. i hate to play the blame game, but it's your fault.