Block

Fingers hover, poised above board, the keys to composure.
Energy drains to less than nothing, apathy creeps
in, sleep beckons with droopy fingers, except
I woke not long ago, optimism soaked,
creative vitamins popped, vitality
bursting skin with sparks of
fragments of ideas. What
drained this resolve?
I see it hunched,
plodding
away.

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