I don't know what i'm doing anymore.
The pen sits in my hand .
The paper on my desk.
but the words come all jumbled up
tangled together
in anger and frustration.

This used to be so easy as a child.
I could throw a stone.
and strike a muse.
but now the stones are boulders
and the muse is a pay stub.  

Has life really won me over?
am I really all used up
My mind dry
parched from the absents of words.