I can’t come up with words
I can’t figure out the scheme
The names don’t fit
I’ve lost my theme
I want to tell you stories
But I’m afraid I’ve run out of inspiration
Is it not enough time?
Is the environment not right?
My mind’s flooded with thoughts
I just can’t seem to write.
Are my ambitions too high?
But I’m better than that guy
And he’s a fucking millionaire.
Lucky bastard, that’s it.
I’ve used all mine up.
Every last bit.
Filed under: Dilated Pupils, poems, poetry Tagged: inspiration, lost, poetry, writing