There is nothing to write,
I’ve been at it all night.
Here is pen, and pa-per,
and there’s notes, to re-fere.
But with no inspiration,
there is just desperation.
I scratch head for a thought,
brings forth nothing, nada — nought.
—
I stare unto the page,
for what seems like an age.
But nothing will come,
and nothing is done.
I scribble at the top of the page.
A § M
6/6/2017
The struggle! You’ve portrayed it beautifully.
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