Poem

Another sunday night.

Another bleak sunday night

no end in sight.

Only grim frustration

and overwhelming pressure

and this writer's block that grips like icy iron and steel.

Firm and unshakable.

Crushing me.

Cornering me.

Killing me.

Cursing me.

I've got nothing.

And a very real deadline of live bodies looming.

I've

got

nothing
...