I'm sitting here, head on my fist;
Trying to write something clever and bold,
But whenever my hand on my wrist
Reaches out to the keyboard, I fold.
I withdraw, and sit there a bit
Just hoping my juices will flow,
And my brain will regain its lost wit;
Where it's gone, I never will know.
I say to my mind, "What is wrong?
Just where are those phrases and quips?
Pray, tell, what is taking so long?
Not a word wants to flow past my lips."
I say, "What's the issue right now?"
I reply, with my eye on the clock;
"I can't think 'cause my brain has shut down;
So I'll write about my writer's block."
