Aesthetic words become bland to me;
I hear and read it back and it
is just psychobabble as usual.
Bored, fatigued and all that is
left is staring at a spider
wiggling his way through my
window; and the sound of a
waspy fan. I sit here tapping
my pencil on my desk, when will
the inspiration flood from my
fingertips for you to see?
Surfeited of a blank mind but
I am blabbering to you with no
sound from my flapping lips.
My florid ways of expressing
these emotions inside, have
quickly become faint austere to me!

a/n: zzz.. it's all I could think of because basically
I have no inspiration right now. I'm sure it'll come
eventually but it is not like I'm talented anyways. =P