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.