Writers Block
Why can’t I think of the next word?
I’ve written so many words
Hundreds of thousands
Hiding in a stack of papers
Each page a new idea
Yet I sit here in the dark
A glass of Jack on the table
I don’t feel like drinking it
There is too much on my mind
Did I do the dishes?
Where is that damn cat?
What should I have for dinner?
Everything except the next word
The word that may make a masterpiece
The screen is there
Blank as ideas that flash through my mind
If I could find the next word
I could go to sleep and finish tomorrow
But that ain’t going to happen
Again I will see the sunrise
And again I will curse the bane of all writers
But I cannot…will not call its name
I will not bring myself to ever admit
That I have been cursed
That I suffer from writers block
I am merely in a slump
At that is my last word
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