Tuesday afternoon blues

I don’t know what to write at all
And yet, my fingers dance
upon my keyboard, words they scrawl
as if somehow entranced

My thoughts are so vague!
My writing, so weak
My brain is on mute — or on break? — 
so to speak

But it isn’t my fault really, wouldn’t you say?
After all, I’m just following orders!
I’m stuck at this desk for the rest of the day
trying vainly to make it feel shorter

See, they say I must write
so I write, ’cause why not?
The cliché and the trite?
Sure, I’ll give ’em a shot!

The result: mindless drivel, of this I’m afraid
and it just seems so frivolous: I’m getting paid!

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