This is no Happy Ballad.

This is no happy ballad, this is is no Jester's song, just the tale of a poet who couldn't pick up the pen. He rips apart his world with ink upon the tip of his tongue, but no matter how much he writes it just drips off the page. Empty lines, and empty words seep into the floorboards, as he runs his wrinkled hands through his troubled mind. Writers block is a cold hard b***h.

Reviews

[DarkRainbowPie]

Sounds like Plath probably thought these exact words too, at some point. Haha, nicely penned for a poet with writer's block.

[Unicorn Princess]

I love it. And know the feeling. And so true "writers block is a cold hard b***h"