At the ends of creativity

Running out of the fluent reasoning making sense in my rhyme.
Trying to find words to put in this so called empty pit of a mind.
Tired and strained from the overloaded reallity of endless.
Pages rip unwritten tolds of the overwhelming releantlessness.
Searching details within invisible ink read to tell the whole story.
Needing toughts to fall from more than the forgotten momery.
Stained imprisonment captured by the compelling imaginitive thrust.
Pumping a fulfilling blindness to the naked eye closer than flush.
I'm at the ends of creativity falling short of a shush of sound.
Loosening free will to open up untamable unguided grounds.
Anything away from the norm that leaks temptations uncontrolability.
Something even dreams look forward to, drifting under unstained sheets.

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