Uninspired
Lack-luster words
Flutter like a dying butterfly
To the vacant page
Upon dried out pens
And stubby pencils
This creative soul
Abandoned by inspiration
Has nothing to give
Nothing to say
Nothing to add
To the massive collection
The world has amassed
Shallow attempts
At being unique
At being fresh
At slapping the community
With something new
With something
Worth reading
Worth admiring
Or even worth hating
So this is it
This is the best I can muster
The butterfly is dead
And has left a mess
Of colored powder upon the page
But I’ve seen it before.
