My mind has once again
Taken up residence in the gutter.
Even my pen won't work;
It coughs and hacks and sputters.

My body aches with untold stories
Even now, my fingers twitch.
I feel so compressed,
All my thoughts, they've begun to itch

My hiatus of the mind
Has gone on far too long.
I need to feel the flow again,
Because without poetry, I feel wrong.