tales [ poem tt ]

Writing is Hard

I am sat at my desk
Hands on my keyboard.
The keys, they do not budge.
The words refuse to pour.

The clock ticks ever onward.
How long, this task has taken?
It could be a week or more,
But I must be mistaken.

The keys tear at my fingers,
I pull them to my face.
The chair warps and twists its shape,
Holding me in place.

The walls have started melting.
Now sliding to the floor.
It fills the room with rotting stench
And tightens ‘round my core.

The tar races up my frame,
Now climbing past my skull.
A thought enters my head.
I spread my arms and pull.

I force my eyes open,
the walls have been restored.
Tense, I settle in my chair.
This yarn I now record.

Originally posted on /r/WritingPrompts TT