Poetic Resurrection

All's a waste of ink need not have spilled
For these pages of remedy are now scratched and filled
With black haze fuzzed over what i believed would be a piece
Of my own poetic soul, but the ability's deceased

The ability of which to compose complete thoughts
A struggle of many efforts that won't lead to naught
For this natural side effect is only temporary, I hope
And it's about as serious as the words lodged in my throat

My condition is unstable, for I watch your interest shrink
And my poetry's esteem has begun to sink
But why should you matter? I now have the conception
Required for my poetic resurrection

*Please help me. :( Writer's block has inspired me to degrade it with a dumb poem...lmao. If you have any suggestions on how to make it better, they will be appreciated, but I'd like to keep this poem just the way it is so I'm reminded of how terribly writer's block affects the mind...

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