Writer's Block

A feeble scrawl on a crumpled piece of paper,
Waste bin overflowing, an endless sea of words.
As 12:30 approaches your ideas start to blur,
An ink blot spreads, the words begin to slur.

Lack of inspiration causes you to fret,
Reminiscing, misused trust and sordid regret.
You grasp for a hint of imagination,
A scatter of blinding literary brilliance
To fit this peculiar situation

Your mind is as blank as the page ahead,
Left untouched as you clamber to bed.