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.