I’ve been sitting staring at a blank word document for probably over an hour now, trying to find an idea to write and failing horridly. In the end I just wrote what, in my mind at least, equate to groaning and complaining about the problem. But never the less; it’s nice to get something written.
Enjoy the read,
There’s no spark of an idea,
No light to guide the words.
Yet still i try to get myself to write,
Doesn’t matter what it is as long as it gets done.
A story, a poem, or even a random blurb,
They all have an equal value in the white world.
So now i grind my mind against the page,
Forcing words from it without any real aim.
As long as words get put to the page,
The resulting headache is worth the pain.