Panned

My bones and my brains are developing rust, I'm pumping the handle but, it’s spitting out dust Rain clouds mumbled, and they just kept going Unfurled my sails but the wind ain’t blowing I was pissing and moaning in a fitful rage But the dried up tears left a wrinkled blank page. The things I start always end up panned, As my pen sits still, stagnant in my hand.