WRITER’S BLOCK

I would write anything that comes to mind

Including the lies that lie behind

My mask and persona masquerade

My self –deceit too deep to aid

I’m always down for a rhyme, that it’s downright “cheesy”

My flow remains good, my punch lines come easy

I try to be tangible like stone… or tangerine

Use English to rule the world when 1/6th of it speaks mandarin

Today though I lay awake my bed

And write lines as stale as old bread

I “mould” my words and fired them in a kiln

But it was an act, to short a scene

I searched the depth of my wordy ocean and found it shallow

Searched for content, my mind found it swallowed

My flow has come to a halt and is stuck

It would seem, dear Watson, I suffer writers block.