Let me reiterate for lack of attention
Write for myself, my terms unmentioned
But writing is hell, and I get no retention
Rhyme’s all tell, no-shows or conventions.
If I made money, I’d go back to recession
Debt’s piling on, near-future extinction
A blocked writer, no meds or prescription
Might stop now in hopes of prevention.
Staring at my screen for days is dissension
Type and erase, a crude intervention
Of thoughts that are dazed like spoonfed tension
Gone are days of the prodigal condescension.
Heavily severed ties to my poetic dimension
Words seep down my mind, a grand exemption
Of ideas and events; no mere apprehension
Just driving me crazy; I need reinvention.
A chance to return to my glorious perfection
Heartbreak and tragedy for shots at redemption
Writing till the day my hands crave inception
O Lord! Protect me till the day of Ascension.
By: Arman Yusuf
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