Mar 06, 2008 19:36
My head is heavy with hundreds of tiny little unconnected thoughts,
as though it were a sandbag, waiting for the right moment to make a thud.
The grains of sand begin to take shape,
forming words, holes, burrying bodies, building castles.
A fly begins to circle my lightbulb,
And nestles itself snugly alongside my ideas.
All that is left is that incessant buzzing,
sickening my thoughts with the writers block bug.