Once upon a night of writing, under insufficient lighting,
thoughts and subjects unexciting rattled through my empty head.
Woeful of ideas lacking, feeling pain from my brain racking,
gooey nachos I was snacking while my writhing brain went dead.
Cheese and chips that I was smacking made my aching brain go dead.
Wishing I could go to bed.
To the story I was tending, with the deadline that was pending
and the sound of pages rending, frenzy quickly turned to dread.
Every sentence that I scribbled caused my muse to start a quibble.
Just a drop of cheese I dribbled while my bleary eyes turned red.
One more bite I had to nibble - my exhausted eyes were red.
Playing with a spool of thread.
Searching for some inspiration for the looming presentation
endless hours of sheer frustration – sanity had finally fled.
Then my pen began to doodle something that looked like a poodle.
“I think I have slipped my noodle,” jokingly I grinned and said.
“Back to work on the caboodle,” so reluctantly I said.
Thinking I should plod ahead.
‘Nother round of frenzied feeding. It was sausage I was eating.
Soon my stomach was repeating and my brain was going dead.
So I tried to keep on writing, ‘twas my brain that I was fighting
for that concept so inviting staying locked within my head.
Surely something was igniting deep inside my cloudy head,
if my muse was not misled
Then I started feeling tired. Drank some coffee to get wired,
but my mind was far too mired for my sparse thoughts to embed.
Once again, with focus drifting, on my tuckus I was shifting
watching kitty madly sifting through her kitty-litter bed.
Kicking, digging, flipping, twisting in her messy litter bed.
I forgot to take my meds
Hoping for a good suggestion, I sought answers to the question
how to battle indigestion from day old pimento spread.
On the web I started playing, hours of work I was delaying;
could not keep my mind from straying from the task that lied ahead.
One more round of dragon slaying, then to do the task ahead,
knowing I should write, instead.
Suddenly some motivation for my writing constipation.
Flowing lines of bloviation echoed loudly in my head.
In a flash it was completed, just when I felt so defeated.
Slice of pizza I reheated – really chewy like a tread.
Kitty purred when I was greeted – being careful where I tread.
Toasted up a slice of bread.
So I typed it up all pretty, feeling absolutely giddy
‘bout my effort, oh so witty – as my silly laughter spread.
Emailed it still feeling hyper. Sweat drops from my brow I wipe-oh,
didn’t think there’d be a typo found within when I reread.
I turned into a big griper after my work I reread.
Getting swallowed up by dread
To my den my wife did hurry. Like a hamster she would scurry,
looking like her eyes were blurry caused by springing out of bed.
“What is wrong? I heard your chatter. Makes me madder than a hatter
when you torture your gray matter,” chidingly she scowled and said.
Off’ring her the hot wing platter, affably I turned and said,
“I love this writer’s life I’ve led.”
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