I tried writing a poem to get rid of my writer's block. Don't think it worked.
It's that feeling in your stomach, that pit of dread,
Seeing the man standing out in the rain,
You know you will be next to be slain,
Because fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
There's a pounding ache inside your head,
It feels like a sledgehammer in your brain.
You wish it were over, wish you were dead,
You can't take it anymore, this great pain.
There is nothing you can do, nothing can be said,
You cannot live under this strain.
You've almost snapped, nearly insane.
It's that feeling in your stomach, that pit of dread,
Because fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
No comments:
Post a Comment