Blank screen

looks reproachfully at me

You are a writer it says

So write

I rub stiff hands

Tender wrists

Sore knees

Knead knots in my back

Feel weight of mental fog

pushing down

suspending my thoughts

like bees in liquid amber

I’m blocked I retort

Too tired

Too much pain

Too fuzzy

Blank screen raises eyebrow

That never stopped you before

Are you having a pity party this morning? it asks

Or are you just avoiding something?

Damn screen

Who asked you anyway?


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved


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