A Writer's Block

Chewing on pre-bitten biro lids,
Shouting at next door’s noisy kids.

Tearing up another empty sheet,
Finishing yesterday’s shredded wheat.

Trying to evoke all your deepest fears,
But secretly googling Britney Spears;

Four months later and all you’ve got
is a notebook full of Writer’s Block.

Slobbing out to hours of day-time telly,
Dreaming of being the next Keats or Shelley.

Deciding the house needs a total spring clean,
Reciting Lord Tennyson with Mr Sheen.

Finding yet more, responsibility to shirk,
Pouring over someone else’s ‘Collected Work’;

Eight months later and all you’ve got
is another notebook of Writer’s Block.

Getting so drunk your speech becomes slurred,
Scouring the dictionary to find a new word.

Taking trips to the river to feel inspired
Only to find your talent’s expired.

Aimlessly seeking out park or station
Determined to make some cheap observation;

A whole year later and all you’ve got
is a life made up of Writer’s Block.