This little black line will drive me insane.
It blinks and it blinks.
It waits.
It mocks.
I hear it, its derisive little laughter.
“Where are your words? Where did they go?
I am waiting you know. Feed me already.
Give me something to do.”
There and gone, there and gone;
standing in the empty space after the first line.
“Is this all you have? Striving for brevity Mr. poet?”
Fuck you.
I’ll go finish this thing with pen and paper.
And I’ll go do it outside, where you can’t follow me.