silence descends, paper; assaulted by pens

yet my notebook lays blank

my mind is seems in a state of shock

this is what they call 'writers block'

a colourful mind feeling great repression

this may be a state of depression, my head is a mess!

others progress, whilst I suffer stress

pencil moving at snail pace, miles behind in the written race

A bitter taste forms in mouth

my piers go forward, whilst I go south

failing class seems a winning bet

worried, anxious, agitated, I begin to sweat

Inspiration arrives, yet I struggle to write

yet I fear not as the end is in sight

persevering forward with all my might

an imagination like mine is surely a rare find

yet I'm sure it's a fact, I'm definitely behind

the clock hits 12, silence is now loud

barging through the door frame, a noisy crowd

within this subject, I feel weak and alone

not wanting to discuss this further, I end this moan

.

Will'o'Stars ©