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Bits and pieces. That's all my mind could generate all night. Shattered dreaming. Nothing made sense. It was all over the place and in such little doses. When this begins in the early part of night the narrator or inner voice feels the need to step in. To fill the void. To calm down the anxiety. To set free the creative monsters starving for late night attention. But what would they create? To sit on these pages for hours can easily lead to writers burnout. When you have nothing to say is when the beast wins. As long as you keep asking questions and face the fight with trust and faith, the darker side of creativity wants no part of it due to the writer unveiling the image. I write to right. To create space. To build upon while carefully examining the deeper side of what I see as the beneath the surface me. I allow too many crafty negative vibrations to purchase property in my soul. I do so to do nothing but listen. Not such a good idea. Especially when the challenges are lined up to hit me all night long.