Today I Will Mostly Be Suffering From Writer’s Block

My words drop dry from my mouth,
No flow, no smooth glide, no well-oiled stream.
Their source is dry broken no more.
I scrabble in the bottom of bags for spare syllables,
Check through the rubbish for abandoned punctuation,
Scan the skies for falling clauses.

My search is fruitless, my quest in vain,
Oh, will I never write again?
I lift my head and pray to God
Let there be words for this poor sod!
I hold my hands up, grab the air
But there are no words, mere nothing’s there.
I lick the pen nib, refill the ink
Ok, put pen to paper, just don’t think,
Just write what you can, just write what you dare
Oh, bollocks, I’ve just made an ink smudge there.

The words taunt, from out of reach, from beyond
The tapping of my keyboard, beyond the scratching of my pen.
I breathe so deeply I can smell the paper spores before me.
I try again, I open with ‘Once upon a time’
And then the words disappear, like fey temptresses into the night
I am alone, penniless and unable to write,
Wondering what the hell I can do to fix this drought.

I hope the words will find me soon
I cannot waste another afternoon
I sip my tea and crunch the biscuit
What happens if this is it?
What if I never write again?
What if all this searching is just in vain?
Oh, Lord, don’t let this be it,
I can’t fail now, I can’t be shit!
I need my words to return to me,
Or I’ll start smoking again, you see.

I dare not dream that my words are gone,
That I will never capture the delicate coil in pen and ink again.
Without my words I am nothing,
They must come back soon.
They must.

Oh God, bring them back soon!

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