Gone fishing out to lunch with my expression all said but not done it was a fix for the torture Of one thousand cuts.
        Limits.
A hollow sound in my  verbal shriek as weak drivel slides from my creative psyche.
           Barren.
Shallow...low dynamic the wick flickers
         Rhyme laid down his sabre as reason goes treasonous.my friend had deserted me made a break for the concession stand you see misery loves company. On another note.
Remote wisps of a clarion call focuses me none at all.
Rambling.
Stumble to the shimmering oasis where cool water ripples.
Trickery.
Pause.
Breath.see it ?
Just another stop along the way.
One foot follows the other.
Till the coil retires.
**** it.
A recurring dream.
Reboot.
Rewind.
Do it to the end.
And again.