i am in an odd mood
more down than i've been in awhile
and i want to reach out to poetry as the tried and true outlet
but

my pen won't write, the inkwell's dry, the paper's blank, my mind is fried.
a sentence too long, a nonexistent rhyme, a mixture of words without a beat or time.
i've forgotten my words, they're all left behind, i've received apathy in exchange for my four four time.
and i'd ask for help, i would, i swear, but the words all stick in my throat.
before i can voice a single concern it's been buried on the wayside of the road.

so here i am with this ****-poor ditty and thoughts that plague my night
and the only excuse i can give for them both is that i cannot ******* write