I set off on a quest for inspiration
Seeking brief relief thru rhymed revelation
But, for me, sometimes it seems like a drug,
Like sniffing lines of razored coke
As I inhale deeply,
Taking a "charge"
On a lyrical toke
That will, perhaps, clear my mind
From this daily grind
But how can I "let it flow"
When my brain can't let go
Of each cornered cobweb
And my ink runs at low ebb
With no flood in sight
Trying to get the write right
But it with all my mental might
I can't find a suitable verb to curb
This "monkey on my back!"
When balled paper wads stack
And my vocabulary is still slack
While like a raving junkie
I wail and pace the floor
But just like the poetic fool I am
I still go back for more