I’m slipping, sliding,
right into the dark.
I’m twisting, turning,
falling apart.

I’m flying, soaring,
up in the clouds.
I’m running, sprinting
across the grounds.

I’m hiding, shrinking,
under the stairs.
I’m searching, seeking,
looking nowhere.

I’m laughing, joking,
having some fun.
I’m talking, shouting,
telling no one.

I’m crying, sobbing,
drying my tears.
I’m leaping, jumping,
crashing down here.

I’m dying, living,
both at once.
I’m thinking, learning,
what the world wants.

I’m sleeping, dreaming,
all in my head.
I’m waking, blinking
here in my bed.

All I do is give my life,
I let it flow at your will.

All I do is shed my soul,
with no hope of refill.

I’ve rested so long
in the palm of your hand.

Moving where you want,
making people understand.

Each day I’m the first
to hear each thought.

To take your notes,
doodle and whatnot.

Every movement I make,
is by your command.

If ever I failed you,
that I couldn’t stand.

But one day it happens,
my soul runs dry.

My life force is gone,
and you wonder why.

You pushed me too far,
used me too much.

And now you’re off
to find a new crutch.

You toss me away,
your faithful companion.

Into the wastebasket I go,
with hopeless abandon.

I was there for you always,
no matter where or when.

I was always in your pocket,
Now I’m just an empty pen.

Writer's block,
what a horrible thing.
I just want to **** it with a stick.

Writer's block,
is so despicable,
the very thought makes me sick.

Writer’s block,
just go away!
No one wants you - leave us be.

Writer’s block,
is that you again?
I thought I told you to get away from me.

Writer’s block,
UGH, I hate you.
Can’t you see where you’re not wanted?

Writer’s block,
yeah, I see you there.
You know I don’t enjoy being taunted.

Writer’s block,
leave me alone.
You’re getting on my last nerve.

Writer’s block,
I’ll strangle you.
It’s far more than you deserve.

Writer’s block,
what is it now?
No, I do NOT want you to stay.

Writer’s block,
I hate you.
Now won’t you PLEASE go away?

It is odd to write about writing,
the words sometimes write themselves.
It’s like a poem about poetry,
about the troubles and frustrating spells.

It’s odd to think about thinking,
it’ll make your eyes go crossed.
It’s odd to talk about talking,
for soon you’re completely lost.

Though why you’d want to write about writing,
I’m not entirely sure.
Or why you’d make a poem about poetry,
It seems a bit of a bore.

And why would you think about thinking?
If not to make your head pound.
Or why would you talk about talking?
Surely there are better things around.

And yet it seems I’ve done just that:
I’ve written a poem about writing a poem,
all about poetry.
I’ve written a thing about writing a thing,
all about writing, you see.

As I said before, it’s odd to do,
and even stranger to behold.
Well, what can I say, I’m odd as well,
and, yes, God broke the mold.

The clock calls
       and the water falls,
                 spilling to the floor.

The bell rings
       and the kettle sings,
                as you’ve been waiting for.

The timer ticks
       and the candle wicks,
                      oil to the flame

The dogs sit
       and the birds flit,
                  as they play their game.

The children whine
       and the wind chimes,
                  a twinkle and a laugh.

The cats purr
       and the fans whirr,
                  sparking up a draft.

The day passes,
       through fogged glasses,
                  of the watching wife.

The daily routine
       and the normal scene -
                the song and sound of life.

How thin is thin enough?
When you’re too weak to move.

How pretty is pretty enough?
What have you to prove?

How deep is deep enough?
When the cuts can’t hide the pain.

How long is long enough?
When joy goes down the drain.

How strong is strong enough?
To stand up to the hurt inside.

How wrong is wrong enough?
To give up your foolish pride.

How close is close enough?
To being almost real.

How far is far enough?
That you don’t have to feel.

How bad is bad enough?
That you can finally say goodbye.

How much is quite enough?
That you no longer care to try.

The way you are, here and now,
is more than thin enough.

To believe less, I wouldn’t allow-
you’re more than pretty enough.

Stop the cuts, stop the tears,
they’re quite enough the way they are.

Just remember the people here,
By your side, never far.

Don’t run away, don’t hide your face,
it won’t do you any good.

Face your fears, let us in,
for next to you we’ve always stood.

Why can’t I see you?
Why aren’t you there?
Why have you left me?
Why don’t you care?

Why don’t you visit?
Why don’t you write?
Why have you gone?
Why can’t you fight?

Why don’t they tell me,
why you don’t come back?
Why must they worry?
Why must I pack?

Why are we leaving?
Why should we go?
Why aren’t you coming?
Why can’t I know?

Why do you lie there?
Why don’t you move?
Why can’t you come?
Why don’t they approve?

Why won’t you look at me?
Why won’t you walk?
Why can’t you hug me?
Why won’t you talk?

Why are they dragging me?
Why are they crying?
Why do they apologize?
Why tell me about dying?

Why are they hugging me?
Why are there tears?
Why can’t I talk to you?
Why can’t you hear?

Why do they shut you off?

Why do they bury you?
Why can’t you get out?
Why can’t I come too?

Why do they tell me
that you’re not coming back?
Why do they hug me
and whisper and pat my back?

What do they mean you’re gone?
What do they mean you’ve died?
Why can’t I come with you?
Why didn’t you comfort when I cried?

I don’t know what these people mean,
I don’t understand what they say.
I just want my daddy back
I just want him there to stay.

Though they tell me it can’t happen,
They tell me you’ll always be there.
If only in my secret heart,
if only because I care.

I guess that’s enough for now,
until you come back to me.
They tell me that I’m wrong, 
but I know somehow it’ll be.

You’ll come back, I know you will,
and I’ll wait each and every night.
For you to return to tuck me in,
and turn off my bedroom light.

I’ll wait.

When the leaves won’t fall
and the grass won’t grow,
Where are you?
The seasons won’t change,
the snow won’t come,
Are you thinking of me too?

The stars stay out,
the sun won’t shine-
You’re not there.
The birds don’t chirp,
the breeze won’t blow-
Do you care?

And if you’re not here,
what to do?
Life is cold without you.
Time seems to freeze
in waiting for you;
The sobbing streams miss you too.

The stars fall,
the moon fades,
Black goes the night.
It’s too much to move,
too much to try,
Too much to fight.

But then there’s a ray,
a hopeful light
to scare away the black.
You’re here now,
if just for a while.
Against it all, you’ve come back.

Fall skips to spring,
the birds rejoice
Though I know it cannot last.
For soon you’ll be gone
and fall will return
To push this to the past.

The leaves won’t fall,
the grass won’t grow,
Holding still the chance,
That you’ll come again
to give them life,
and perhaps give me a glance.