I haven’t written anything for weeks.
I quit drinking and smoking
and my muse quit me.
I sit here, night after night
staring at a blank page,
and trying to spill my life onto it.
I type a line, read it, and delete it.
Nothing seems genuine.
So many hallways to explore
and I can never move
more than a few feet down any.
I try to write about Me
and I try to write about You,
but always at the threshold,
never venturing forth.
this is as close to writer's block that i come. some nights i just can't pull anything out of my life and lay it on the screen.
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