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Poetry
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| stuck | |
| By no1butClo | ||||
| 02 January 2007 | ||||
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Yes I've gone and done it, I've written a poem about not writing; my ladies and gentlement, I feel this may be the end...farewell Sitting slumped. Wrists ache as she tries to type - clack clack thunk. Shit, no paper. One foot is numb, taking her weight. She inhales. Shit, no bath. Scattered around, the Greats jeer. Larkin, Plath where is your cynicism? Where is the obscure imagery, faded origin of so much shit. Clack. She drops to the desk. No more nightmares tonight.
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