Realization

I feel like as I get older, and less angsty, my creativity is drying up.
It's drying up like skin in the wintertime.
It's drying up and becoming smaller and smaller, until finally it will spontaneously combust from lack of fuel and energy.
Maybe I should become angry and bitter.
My writing would flourish and become moisturized.
I would feel the need to do something overly creative and raw.
Instead I sit here, wondering why nothing is falling out of me like it used to.
Seriously, it would just fall out of my orifices.
Like a nosebleed.
Instead I sit here on my laptop and watch my cat try to claw at something. I think it's a bug.

My goal this week is to try to be more angsty. Maybe I will be able to write a poem or something.