Where poetry comes from.

I was very good at creating from misery.  The loneliness of life in an empty house I was about to lose to foreclosure will do that, I suppose.  I always knew/believed that I would be better at creating while I was happy.

Indeed that assertion seems the case, but I find it hard to write those haunting poems I did before.  "The tortured soul always bleeds better on paper," as the saying should go.  Now all my poems are too mushy really share.  Even the erotic ones kind of lose their bite because the way they come off as all nice and stuff.