I think I’m having writer’s block.
All it seems I can do is sit
And watch as the clock
Each second passing,
The ticking of the hands seems to whisper,
Telling me something I already know.
Your brain is slow,
You’re waisting time.
Just think of something,
A single rhyme
That like a blossom in the spring
Will bloom into a flower.
I try to search inside my head
But much like a fly in a spider’s web
My thoughts are trapped
Nowhere they can go.
Or a dam of ideas about to over flow,
Just needing one more to break the gates.
But alas, here I sit
Staring at the clock,
Trying to think of something
That will break my writer’s block.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
You say I am obsessed with myself,
And the way I look.
Point out how I stare at the mirror and focus on every nook
And every cranny of my body.
But I am not obsessed, I just fear I’m going mad
From a terrifying disorder who knows how long I’ve had.
I‘m merely mapping out this body I see through this drunk-like haze.
Searching for a sign to tell me “this is you”
To tell me “this is right” and that there’s no mistake.
Pinching myself until I feel something in this dreamlike state.
It’s like a never ending nightmare, from which I
Cannot
Wake.
Staring at the mirror at this body
Which apparently is mine.
No I am not obsessed,
I just think I’m going mad,
From a terrifying disorder who knows how long I’ve had.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC