A mind with writer's block
is like a gerbil running on a wheel
always running, but never getting anywhere
a sad, sorry, stalemate of intellect
a sad sight it is to behold, the mind if a writer
traped in the cage of writer's block
ideas blowing around like the wind
with no way to pen them down
a sad, sorry, stalemate of intellect
pondering, writing, erasing, and retrying
feeling like a falure, a phoney, and a failing writer
hearing the crumpling of paper, lying rejected on the floor
a sound of tourtrue to the ears of their creater
the only way out of this block is through is
or around it, or over it
or anyother way to get out of it
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