my mind—
                   is as  b     l     a     n     k   as this page
—i am      
             unmotivated, talking to the walls
uninspired—   
                     because the walls never talk back to me

{thoughts scattered, words wasted}  

—my mind
                   sits |isolated| from the world,

cornered into small space
writers block! oh what a horrible disease!
 
i am shipwrecked
                             —drowning in a sea of doubt
                            while ebony ink fills my lungs
 
and all of my efforts, lost within direction
from the light……at the end of the tunnel

for words do not come out of my pen
                           only ink b•l•o•t•c•h•e•s do
                           only to smear  on my hands
 
{what unproductive, wasted paint!}
     
every plot
                every paragraph
                                          every letter that i draw

are insignificant, empty markings

                             dullness are my poems,
   
          how uncreative are my lines
 
          inevitable is this disease
                             —called writers block.