my ailment

Poetry and Prose

I think I am infected,

I must be quite ill,

I don’t know where I caught it,

I’m not sure if there’s a pill,

On the outside I look fine,

But internally a mess,

I don’t know how to cure it,

I haven’t the slightest guess,

How long will this ail me,

I need some sort of clock,

I am sick of feeling this way,

Sick of writers block.


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