25 September 2012

. Written words upon the page

. My mind, a drain of ink

. Seeing every sentence I chew up

. I spit back down the sink

. Every thought erodes the silence

. Into something of a slate

. Where I burn

. And scorch the

. Pattern

. Then serve frozen

. On a

. Plate

MelchiorJ13Writer's Block • Opuss № I