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beanie-babyPoems
Someone told me that inspiration comes in the form of an explosion Another told me David came drifting through their ***** ceiling with a notecard in hand Well I’m staring at my ceiling In this library And saying, the hell he does… God doesn’t send me angels. Inspiration is not hiding in a carbonated can that I just have to crack Inspiration comes to me from a PlayDo machine Something I grind and feed Sometimes there’s something Sometimes it’s all dried up It comes in chunky nuggets, or smooth pasta But it needs to be massaged You need trained muscles, oiled gears Writer’s block is negligence Rusty cars never start Wear Blue Start Rituals And write Write Write
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Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Inspiration
Someone told me that inspiration comes in the form of an explosion Another told me David came drifting through their ***** ceiling with a notecard in hand Well I’m staring at my ceiling In this library And saying, the hell he does… God doesn’t send me angels. Inspiration is not hiding in a carbonated can that I just have to crack Inspiration comes to me from a PlayDo machine Something I grind and feed Sometimes there’s something Sometimes it’s all dried up It comes in chunky nuggets, or smooth pasta But it needs to be massaged You need trained muscles, oiled gears Writer’s block is negligence Rusty cars never start Wear Blue Start Rituals And write Write Write
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beanie-baby
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
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