I wish I could write Yet life´s meddling Has me drawing blanks I stare at the screen I stare at a sheet It´s all the same There´s only white And my pen grows dry And my heart colder My blood thicker My mind dumber A jam of words Within me grows I can´t form verses Theres only letters Only phonemes Only scribles That look like symbols Lost meaning all... So many poems to write They remain in the void For you will have to excuse me I need to get back to work...
The monotony of work sure saps the creative flow, if it isnt´t me being absolutly spent from the day to day, it´s doing the same thing over and over again. And over, and over, and over...