The metric of your beating heart is
Slightly out of sync
And creeping back and forth on toes.
Expose the fact you cannot tell a single
Your beating heart no longer drumming
Humming out of sync
And sweating drops of liquid lies
Despite the very efforts you still can’t
Bite on honesty.
Feeble heart all out of rhythm
Hidden in its cage
And thumping hard to get let out
And doubt the things you keep on spewing, undoing
All your fiction.
On failing lie detector tests.
Why does it feel like writing gets harder and harder the more you do it? Shouldn’t you find it easier once you get into the swing of writing day after day – or am I driving myself into a writer’s block pit?