The Saddest Disease

January 24, 2012
I can’t think of anything to write,
my ideas, like a bird, have taken flight.
I sit here in my chair,
all alone, waiting for an idea.

At this point I would set my hair
on fire or get diarrhea
for an idea that would help me write
a poem.

I might be up all night,
or dissolve into atoms
and die.

The sad truth is...
I have writers block.

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