Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Writer's Block

The frustration and pain of bloodied hands
Beating against my brick walls
And the Acrid Acidity of it all burns my mind
As I am lost in my meanderings
But blocked from my muse
Because I hold myself back
The future looks bleak
The pungent odor of indecision
Permeates the air I won't breathe
I am almost witnessing the death of my muse
Hearing the gasping breath of my determination
My talents have been squandered
The opening act for flashy marquis of sex and trivial pursuits
Mindless monotony has replaced inspiration
And I keep losing track of the words that once flowed like a fountain
A sad waste to find the beast caged, power leashed
Raised by gypsies,
Reformed by Stepford
Vivid colors fade to Sepia
And in the Mirror you gloat
You assume you have won
But my blood doesnt bleed grey

1 comment:

marti said...

far and was out of breath. I had to stop.
Ill be back for more.

About Me

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I've been Bama since before Myspace, but I've matured, I've toured bits of the world. I'm searching for a place to call home-- but in the mean time, I'm having a great time figuring out the world, finding out who I am in it, and learning all about the people and places in between.