Lately, I find myself staring.
A whole world and all I do is stare.
But I’m not staring anywhere,
not even into space.

It’s all blank,
I have no inclination,
no inspiration.
Even this poem is
taking too long.

I fear that I’ll stop writing,
I fear I’ll go insane when that happens,
I fear a lot
Well... Not really.

At the moment I feel unfeeling,
but not in a bad way.
I’m writing this to say:
Andrew, get over yourself!

You’re not going to stop writing,
you actually can’t,
so, ideas are scant?
Boo hoo! Go and have a rant!

Spank yourself,
eat some bread,
drink some wine,
have a whine.

Do something to start your mind,
because at least you aren’t blind,
or in a bind,
so kickstart your mind somehow.

Just don’t be such a dozy cow!