My brain is on fire with everything.
I sit down to write and end up with blank lines and empty stanzas.
Where words of intense beauty and insight should rest are frustrated scribbles.
My lack of aspiration is disheartening.
I can’t unscramble my mind for one second long enough to write a decent line,
Or anything that’s not…I lost my train of thought.
Want to know where it went?
You.
Straight to you, without consent
Like a fly to honey, I’m stuck in the sticky sweetness of you.
See? Even my similes ****,
Drowning in this sad case of writers block.
My creative flow is barren.
My muse is strangled by thoughts of your silly grin.
I set my pen to paper and waste hours on the sap that is my poetry.
Wondering if there is any hope left for me.