The Writer’s Anguish

I don’t
think
I have
anything
to say

Today

Perhaps
there
will be
more
sorrow

Tomorrow

So I
will
wait to
pick up
my pen

Then

For I
fear I
wouldn’t
even
know how

Now

Poetry

Some pills
make it
better

Some
make it
worse

Sometimes
the only
solace

Resides
in written
verse

Writer’s Block

I try to write but the words fail.

Sit, think, smoke, exhale.

As I reach for the coffee cup,

I wonder if my time is up.

Have I forgotten you,

Is that what this is?

The reason I can no longer write this shit?

Or could it be this depression is finally lifting?

Maybe the all encompassing darkness is shifting?

Perhaps after all this time my heart is mended.

And my love affair with words has ended.