writers block

Writers block
My pen won't move
It is all that I can do to lose hope
Can write about love
he's too lost to care
Cant write about the frost shards
it's summer time out there
The lonliness is so far gone, that I've let go of holding on
The pencil hates eraser, you see
And the little rubber shaving are blowing free
From the breath of whiskey ridden me
My tortured soul is tortured not
My peach is ripe no longer rot
My soft right hand is growing weary.
Maybe I should just move to Siberia!
To say that in this trip I'd find the writings of a lonley mind.
For locked up, boxed up, thrown away,
is all my inspirational frays.

Poised and pretty,
Hand is steady,
Come on brain im more than ready!
dot, dot, dot...

Any second now
The thought's will be behind my brow

I'd change this place as i see fit
Just too bad my pen and paper quit