The Writer sat inside his brain,
Cramped and slowly going insane.
He nudged ideas out the way,
“That isn’t what I want to say!
stop teasing me, you verbose wh***s!”
Inspiration wasn’t there,
No ‘bye’ , no ‘see ya,’ so unfair.
The space inside his head grew smaller,
and his stories grew no taller.
Dissonance rang loud and sure,
“Why does my brain not have a door!”
If he surrenders to defeat,
The gods of Writer’s Block he’ll meet.
And alcohol he might abuse,
if only he just had a muse.
And still he sits there to this day,
Cranially trapped this way,
The Left side overtaking Right,
And no one here to hear his plight.
I’m sure his words will come one day,
or in his animo he’ll stay.
(Animi Carcerem – “Mind Prison.”)