Why must I always think in verse? Is it a talent? More like a curse All day long songs pour through my head But before they hit paper, they're usually dead A few survive, most get archived and others quickly deleteted It doesn't take more than a couple of lines to know you've been defeated
Blessing or curse? Spoken or verse? Two pieces of a broken mind, Searching for the power to find What she knows is inside her, The capability- But in the end it comes Down to ability, And she hasn't found it yet- Her brain is full of detailed worlds, But how to draw them out? Some may call it writer's block But she has writer's drought.
Sit on the ground watch the parade march around go through the whole town no one notices that jugglers are choking and the little kids are smoking the balloons are deflating everything escalating and its so frustrating but the pills are sedating