Words are trapped
in the unfathomable
depth of this mind.

Solitude then came
along this pale
moonlit night.

Ink of this pen
could no longer
unfold its mysteries.

Hope to find peace
on the funeral
of my poetry.

I never understood what
‘writers block’ was, until now:

The complete derailing
of your train of thought

I have now backspaced
Probably, too many times
All for a haiku

i look so good
on paper
every fiber
every inkling
tells a story
my story.

i look again
hoping i'm okay
on paper
as i write
and write
my stories
whose stories
again?

i look again
at the paper
and sigh.
nothing.

Sometimes I over drink.
Oops I mean overthink.
Ah **** it, it's the same **** thing.

I over pour my glass leaving no room for coke.
The voice repeating in my head of the last words you spoke.
You ask why I'm self destructive but the truth is I dont know.

I'm starting to think that the devil is a lie.
The only evil we see is what we bury inside.
I'm going to lose to myself, it's only a matter of time.

I'm starting to get lazy and just copy and paste,
All the words that went nowhere so they don't go to waste.
Maybe i'm just over this **** and need a change of pace.

I have a lot to say but a lot remains unspoken.
My creativity is asleep and dares not be woken.
I write what I feel but my pencil needs sharpened.

This used to keep my demons from making a revival.
Now when I write it's like I dont even try at all.
I dont know how to escape this so I live in denial.

What's left to say that I haven't already said?
The devil lives inside of me it's inside my head.
I'm thinking it's time to introduce my brain to some ******* lead.