It is hard to write something good. It is harder to continue writing despite that.
Sorry, those single digit viewer stats.
Sorry, blog. I had forgotten why I made you.
When I sit down
when I make a concentrated effort
Something - anything.
Afflatus puts down the pen.
Quickly and quietly clears its desk,
hurriedly draws the blinds,
flicks off the lights,
Leaves the room and locks the door.
All thoughts and ideas dissolve
into a puddle, a small splace
upon and then becoming a grey slate
And all I ever wanted to say
Is encompassed by a vacuous yawn.
It is frustrating.
Stay on for more bad poetry, and anything that keeps me writing.