Not writting

Sit back relax and just enjoy this ride,
i keep telling my self this just to buy some time,
i sit again in this flimsy chair settle my things and i begin to stare,
blank expression on my face, no inspiration in sight,
and i dont even know how i am going to get through the night.

I regain my composure and i settle again,
blank piece of paper and my old black pen,
as my hand flows back and forth im attempting to write,
but no matter how much i press nothings coming tonight.

i breathe.

i put on a cd and i begin to think,
about this and that and things meaning to be,
once again i try to make this rhyme come out,
but i’m met with more distractions and a couple unwanted accounts,
things i’d like to say but my lips wont let me,
things i’d like to write but my hand wont take it.

Shit, once again im stuck,
three months dry spell and im beginning to doubt,
has it gone away never to come back,
is it afraid once again of what i might lack.

You arent the words you speak but what you write,
for when you let your mind flow its the true emotions that flow,
decisions and angst so many things that go,
thinking stupid shit, and wondering where all this will blow.
 
After many attempts this things begins to evolve,
i have finished my first sentence and it reads like it does below,
"true minds describe the absence of self, while those without wisdom dangle in despair…"

Alright one line only 100 more to go,
i feel like i cant stop and at the same time cant go,
why can i have all these things just lingering inside,
yet when i try and make them come out,
its like they overdosed on ridaline and died