Riverbed

scratching in the dirt in hopes of striking inspiration

By M. A. Mehan Published 2 years ago • 1 min read

Ramming my head against the wall,

Waiting for a wordy rain.

I haven't picked up a pen in weeks

My creativity has been slain.

My mind's as dry as a desert,

Parched as a crusty riverbed.

I scroll in pursuit of dopamine,

Chasing light to fill my head .

Why can't I write?

I feel so defeated.

Every time that I try,

Things are left half-completed

I see the scatter of corpses

Of stories I've started,

I shove them all in a drawer,

Feeling dead and cold-hearted.

So I'm stuck in this desert,

On this dry, souless plain,

Waiting for inspiration

To flow once again.

"It simply isn't an adventure worth telling if there aren't any dragons." ~ J. R. R. Tolkien

storyteller // vampire // arizona desert rat

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