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As I sit here pondering,

Of what I shall jot down next,

An uneasy feeling,

Crawls underneath my skin,

My neck.

Yes, it's that old familiar feeling,

One we all feel now and then,

Writer's block! The horror!

The void of imagination within.

I struggle to think of an idea,

Oh how it pains me,

My creativeness,

Withering away,

Like an old, forgotten tree.

But, suddenly, an idea!

Why had I not thought of it before?

Just take that pesky Writer's block,

And change its nature, its form!

And thus, this poem is born!

Oh, how ironic this night has been,

From starting,

With Writer's block,

And ending with a poem.