I feel like I have run out of words
As if I have a jug filled with sentences
Coiling and twisting in layers at the bottom
And when I tip it over for one more story
A quotation mark or a comma
Clatters again the counter
My hands thirst for one more idea
I feel my mind chapping from the lack of words
Splitting and bleeding out doubt
Until I grab at the jug and scrape at the residue of all my thoughts
I feel weak, empty
The poet in me curls up on the floor
Gasping and flopping for one more idea
As the room becomes full of half written ideas and broken pencils


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