Passion flows out of this dull pencil,
My only writing utensil.
As I attempt to gather my stream of consciousness in a verse.
My mind is so blank it’s a curse.
My body is growing tired,
My creative juices are souring,
Growing worse.
OK,
Nothing.
Come on something………………
Inspiration?
Salvation from this writing rut.
Ok, something might be coming but, what?
Dang it, I lost it, I want to quit while I’m at it.
12:30 writer.
Enthralling images of love gained and love lost cloud my head as I cling to my bed.
I’m free falling into a dream state and I’m slouching over this desk and I bet you’re losing respect for me as an author, a creator, a modest individual……………………………
No restraint.
No complaint.
I’ll be fed so I won’t feel faint
12:35 writer.
I want it to be daytime.
Brighter.
Lighter.
So I could dance in the sun.
Not scorching hot
That’s a new level of hot,
Higher than scalding water on a pot.
You got that.
12:40 writer.
This endeavor won’t be an all nighter…………..
She’s so tired.
This was bleak.
Very bleak.
#FranknessonFleek
Wait the kids don’t say that anymore
Man, I’m such an old bore
Wait, what do they say,
Nah, I’m out, I gotta snore loudly in slumber while thunder is outside and my dog is screeching Mariah high
BYE!

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