On the Regular

Writer's block is a painful endeavor.

So bad it makes me question my creativity and if a spark of it existed ever.

If only there was a magic pill or convenient mushroom

sitting around waiting to be consumed.

But there's not and time continually becomes wasted

along with all of the ideas that I should have once invested.

It is as disappointing as getting cock blocked yet there is nobody

but yourself to blame...

Adding to the factor of humility and shame,

So yeah, it is actually worse and not exactly the same.

As it is obvious, the lack of creativity has come to the point in which I have nothing

but writer's block to rhyme about while I drunkenly pour myself another stout.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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