deepundergroundpoetry.com

With out a thought, with out an idea

The blank canvas stares at me
 torturing my mind,
my mind is an open empty book
 drifting on and off again, restarting its self
like a machine of some sort

 Painters block?
Writers block?
 
   time is flying by
tick tock tick tock
 the clock turns three

five days
      four days
three days
        two days
one day
         the end 
Written by black-roses (rosy)
Published
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