To capture the perfect moment
That’s all I ask for
Quiet, alone on the back porch
Yet I need a little bit more

It’s useless, I tell you
No matter what I do
Write. Scratch. ***. Repeat.
I’m such a waste of ink.

My *** is sore
My coffee is cold
Ink faded to periwinkle
My face begining to wrinkle

Searching for a good line
Still nothing comes to mind
I guess this is a sign
I’ll end this poem with the last bit of ink I can find