The Forgotten Craft

The words have fled, disappearing down some rabbit hole, hiding in the depths of the earth. They left me with a swarm of ideas and myriad of thoughts, and no way to express them, but with all the wrong words. My brain pulses with them, trying to extrude them from their places as electrical impulses and put them down in visible form, but is stopped; it cannot whilst it lacks the tools.

I recall that it is because I have forgotten how to recognise the right pattern; I've forgotten the practice because I've not seen it in a little while. I must read to remember to how to write.