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Sep 2019
The screen stares back into my tired eyes
as if snow fallen freshly from the starless sky.
My fingers rest upon random keys
as a sailor stuck on calm, unmoving seas.
The thoughts suspend inside my head
as if I were a corpse, freshly dead.
I am a writer who cannot write
as if I were the moon without a night.
A poem about writers block.
Heather Danielle Ashley
Written by
Heather Danielle Ashley  27/F/Gilbertsville, Ny
(27/F/Gilbertsville, Ny)   
206
 
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