As sit here, once again,

Thinking about what to write,

A awful feeling, a sin,

Comes at me, like a knife.

The dreadful feeling of boredom,

Oh, a wicked thing,

My mind, held down, strung

Like a lead ball in water, sinking.

As I write this down,

The feeling lifts away,

Although, while this may leave a frown,

It is not gone, much to my dismay.

So, I finish this writing,

With the feeling still lingering,

But perhaps the next time I end up trying,

I'll be left drafting and creating.