Solitude (Working Title)

I have a major problem.

My pen hand’s run out of ink
Right side of my brain is on strike
I can’t think
I’ve got no words of wisdom
No rhythmic insight
And in my frustration
I keep taking my knife
Running it along my mental wrists
Yet the words aren’t flowin
What kind of writer’s block is this?
There are no pictures to paint
No sculptures to create
Just a big black cloud of
Shit, Damn, Fuck
Me.
My hand is bleeding now
From holding this pen so tight
But still my words are nowhere in sight!
Life’s heavy realities are slowly setting in
As if I inhaled too much oxygen
My head begins to spin
Landing me in the lap of desperation
I’m searching all over for a spark of inspiration
Some sensation or temptation
To wake me from this isolation….

And while I was drowning in my dark and saddened abyss…
I didn’t even realize I was writing this.

Chess Pieces on a Checkerboard

We
Don’t
Fit.
That ain’t no bullshit.
You know it, I know it
Our faces show it
Yet we keep playing these games
Of
Phone tag
Hide and go skeet
Kiss around your rosie
Pushing buttons
All for nothing
Just for the simple fact that
I’m hooked on you
And you’re hooked on me
Both of us wanting to be free
From the hold we have on each other
Like a ring that won’t come off
My middle finger
You say “Fuck you”
I say “Screw It”
I try to pull you off
But I just can’t do it
Sure, a little oil or butter might do the trick
But truth is without you I get heartsick
Can’t let you stay out of my way for more than a few
Two
One
Month
And right on time, you come back unable to get enough
Of me, the one addiction you can’t shake
Like Amy in Rehab, the treatment doesn’t take
And you come back saying you miss me
Or rather what’s in my pants
While I’m stuck in my own little trance
Of whether I should let you back in again
And then,
I open my door, kiss your lips
Lay you down on the floor
Loving how we’re like two chess pieces on a checkerboard.