I continue to sit here
High up on my writers block
With pen in my hand
Blank pad in my lap

Head resting in hands
As knees hold elbows
Hunched over in doubt
Nothing to write about

Looking into the night
For an ounce of inspiration
But instead all I get
Is a cold slap in the face

I turn my face away with shame
Loosing grip of the pen I hold
My pad falls from my lap
As I walk away from my writers block