FicWad

Here I sit,
With the urge to write,
But no inspiration,
For the words to ignite.

So this is the feel,
Of writer's block,
Just the passing of hands,
On a broken clock.

Too much cliche,
Wanting to spill,
Between the lines,
With an inked quill.

I won't let that,
Stop me now,
'Cause in my head,
I took a vow.

This here's final,
My very last verse,
For I've shoved that block,
In the back of a hearse.