I'm sitting here with a pencil in my hand
Staring at the empty paper in front of me
I can think of nothing to write about
There isn't the slightest trace of inspiration
Yet I feel chained to this chair and this desk
I can almost feel each link digging into my skin
Obviously there is something I want to say
Outside dusk is approaching, the sky a dusty rose
Finally my hand is moving, without my really thinking
As if its being guided by some other operator
Somewhere deep inside, I must have the essentials
The golden recipe that will give me success
I just have to climb the fence that guards it
Inspired by The Sunday Whirl- Wordle 71. Any ideas how I could've used the word forgiven?
This work by Porcelain Lotus is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/08/26/wordle-71/.