Fact... or fiction?

I can't write poems anymore, and that pisses me off. I never use to be able to write stories, but now they come to me so easily. I wonder what changed; what could make my mind change enough for me to be able to not write poetically anymore? Is this going to be forever? Have I lost that ablility complely? Will I only be able to express myself through narriatives?

 

What if one day I lose my ability to write stories? What will I do then? If I'm left, unable to create a world unlike this one, which I'm trapped in, will I fade? Just like all of my characters eventually do? Will I lose my talent? Will it just die along with every last dream or hope for the world that I ever have had?

 

I can't live without this as an outlet, and I don't know what I'd ever do if I lost the last thing I'm proud of... I think I'd die without this; without oxygen, water, food, and writing, I would be dead.

 

This is the last thing I can tell everything to, be truthful to, and still put it under the title of fictitious.