Writer's Block

It's somewhere between insanity and constipation

When you rip off your clothes and dance

In your undies and

In the middle of the grocery aisle

In hopes of finding a source of inspiration

When your beloved characters complain about being locked away

In a computer junk storage closet

And you can't seem to find that damn key

When your poetry is as crappy as

This here lovely limerick

Which isn't actually a limerick

When you start classifying poetry wrong, god forbid

When you complain that your characters keep nagging you

And find that you're soon locked in an insane asylum

Oooh, asylums, that's a possibility

No, damn writers block

Asylums are soooo cliché

When you start ranting and rambling so much, that they kick you out

Of the Asylum, and back to your so called 'loving family'

Who cooompletely support your dreams to be a starving artist

When really you know you'll be a multi million dollar novelist

When your rant comes to a dead halt

And in a random burst of inspiration

You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind

And furiously scratch it onto your hand

So you don't forget it

And you look back to that note a few hours later

All prepared to write that tale

And then you think

And you ponder

And for the life of you, you can't remember where that train of thought was heading

And you're sure u deciphered your handwriting correctly

But it just won't come back

You take one last glance at your hand

"The mermaid came about when man loved a dolphin more than society said he should."

What the fuck?