And where’s the metaphor in writer’s block?
And isn’t it obvious?
No, not when you’re the writer with writer’s block
and how can you start again
when nothing has ended?
I have poems
saved a few months back
poems I’m too terrified to read
poems that once loved me now mock me
poems that once breathed now bleed
now I weep for the trees that gave their lives
to be the paper to soak in the ink that links
these lies back to me.
I swear to God
I didn’t mean them to be.
Written with the best intentions
now haunting in their meaning
meaning they have been born and died and reappear as specters this night
while I haven’t moved an inch from where I sat to write.