The Same Circling Questions

I know I haven't been writing enough
But the words have stalled.
I'm mourning something but I can't remember what.

I'd rather date an idea,
Makes it easier to live,
And daydreams don't break.

I've been counting my glasses,
And whether they're half-empty or half-full.
I'm beginning to realize they're all broken on the ground.

I'm not sure if my luck is good or bad,
If the timing is wrong or just a little late,
If I'm counting the wrong things and have been this whole time.

I know I haven't been writing enough,
All my goals have fallen flat.
I can't get enough out.

I'm locked in a prison but I'm pretty sure it's mine.
Success is an illusion and happiness will fall,
I'll count my lucky stars that I can still breathe.

My heart's heavy with too much weight
I've said I won't let it break me,
But God, I'm still so afraid.

What if I just make the same mistakes of the past?
What if it doesn't work out, if nothing's okay?
I want to go back, but I've never been 'fine'.

I've been counting the tears
That fall from my eyes.
Silently waiting in a pointless disguise.

If I was okay do you think I would write?
Or would I give up the poems and metaphors instead?