Oh, you wretched Writer’s Block!
Curse your plague upon my head!
The balled-up paper hits the rim,
And falls to the carpet, dead.
Staring at the ballpoint
And it’s useless, wasted ink,
I will myself to try again;
I force myself to think.
Imagination staunted
To cease creative flow.
Where the thoughts have made their way,
I simply do not know.
Emotional constipation
From the verbal diarrhea.
Love of words contracted me
a written gonorrhea.
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©2004-2009 ~BellaStella88
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Comments
Well done!
See? Even in your writer's block, you have written something. Interesting, no?
--
Welcome to deviantART, where pretension meets the internet.
--
''We live on front porches and swing life away,
We get by just fine here on minimum wage
If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand''
'Swing Life Away' - Rise Against
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It's the end of the world as we know it
and I feel fine
--
*´¨)
¸.·´¸.·*´¨) ¸.·*¨)
(¸.·´ (¸.·'Yesterday,Today, Forever.
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If only pure sweetness was offered, why's this bitter taste left in my mouth? If I could catch my breath just to exhale, I'd know that I held it in to long
From the verbal diarrhea.
Love of words contracted me
a written gonorrhea.
Absolutely imaginative and juicy (no pun intended
--
--
Anais Nin: "And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
--
Anais Nin: "And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
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