Well Run Dry.
I used to thrill
To raise the quill,
Words gambolled on and on;
I guess that thrill is gone.
Dyspraxic digits clubbed the keyboard,
Typos and good grammar ignored,
Ideas tumbled happily from the mind
As fingers fumbled, sentences behind.
I’d thought I had something to say,
An amusing pun, bandy some wordplay,
Double entendres, two-fingered typed fun,
Now it’s two thumbs down for this tragic one.
Joie de vivre weighs heavy in my head,
Even my black humour is all but dead,
Trying to dredge up some light flight of fancy
Would mean a lift of spirit worthy of necromancy.
To raise the odd smile was my glad intent,
Sad, all my good humour’s gone off and went,
Perhaps it’s for the best to to stay quietly depressed?
So I’ll do as weary old readers have and give it a rest.
(Just a touch of burn-out showing? Obviously. Overtly melodramatic? Yep. Self-pitying? Yessiree Bob. Maudlin? Yes indeedy. So, time for a little time out? Fuck yes.)