Writer’s Block

Today’s the day:

I’m going to construct an artifact.

I’ll compose one of the finest works of literature ever seen.

I’m ready.

Today’s the day.

I frantically jump up and down:

I’m determined to overcome and escape it’s malice.

Ecstatically, I take possession of the nearest pen and sheet of paper.

Today’s the day.

I sit down and I’m ready to compose my masterpiece:

Writer’s block isn’t going to engulf me in it’s void of disparity.

I meticulously introspect:

What is my topic again?

Today’s the day,

I repeat to myself as I fidget with my pen,

I glance at every corner of the room,

trying to reassure myself that writer’s block won’t attack again,

reassuring myself that it won’t consume me,

it won’t eradicate my train of thought.




Writer’s block has once again taken control:

it’s evil clutches containing my creativity,

it’s evil clutches protruding and attacking my thoughts.

Maybe today’s not the day?

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