Do I have any words left?
That upon the page I can heft?
My cantankerous inkwell is bone dry,
Words in reserve, I have no supply,
Nothing there from which to compose,
My mind is a whitewash of ghostly echoes,
I dislike this feeling of an empty slate,
For words what can I use as bait?
This lack of words is so tiring,
Why aren’t my synapses firing?
Writing should not be a slog,
Get me out of this brain fog!