I lay out the paper
I pick up my pen
I rattle my head again and again
Yet nothing emerges, I draw a blank
Just like this paper, all but blank
This mind far from empty, my thoughts race
Yet I can't get them down, can't find a pace
This mind of mine, so sporadically poetic
This mind of mine, equally pathetic.

Words.
I used to write them daily
My pen filled with ink
It found the darkness inspiring
My loveless life shown through prose

But now I'm apathetic of feeling
My once ink filled pen
No longer paints poems of pain
It doesn't sing the song of serenity
The ink has run dry
I'm all out of......

Creativity

She comes in leaps and bounds
Fits and starts
She’s here
Then she’s gone

Creativity

She’s a fickle creature
Here one day
Gone the next

Creativity

How do I summon thee?
How do I get the gods of writing
To bless me?