Writer's Block
Looking for something raw from within,
Something ugly, truthful and vivacious,
I look inside and I find blank sin,
Salt and venom, so bloody capricious
Ripped off clichés and arcs do proceed,
Directing my mind to inspiration,
But no, void does, as ever, impede,
Originality, vile temptation
What is that thing, the perfect story?
Structure or truth or what?
Elusive tart of allegory,
Oh, but for a muse, I rot...
Clarity is hewn from passionate throws,
Music, drink, substance and sword,
Blessed is the man who can write what he knows,
The master of experience is the master of word
It's a really simple poem - please don't insult me for sharing my soul with you! Fuck it, I know you will anyway.