I have a block on my brain and a clock
In my mouth and I'm tasting each second
For days I've swallowed the hours
Striking worth into the air with words
Like arrows that were stuck into my knees
To pin me to the chair, to force me to write
I've got a pencil and a thousand
Thoughts but my wrists won't move
Why are my thoughts the flies on a rot
Aloft each other in persuasive decay?
Their decay is my demise
I control this square with just enough
Space to envelop an affliction
They are all dead to me
They are all dead
Oh no, it's a comfortable rape!
Unlike any normal respite
This canon-style boredom is a crippling image
Ready to pop at any moment
Red-faced children can't vomit
Insignificantly hopeful
They are pulling on these coiled limbs
They are taught and confined
In this environment I am my own destruction
Relying so heavily on every possible sketch?
Procrastination? lost cause?
Knowing nothing