The last days of a writer

The TV showed reruns for the past two years

No recent made content a fact with no peers

No movies no classes not a script was made

Their boredom was complete no new songs were played

Some visions got stolen they will not come back

News honest so boring black screen views they lack

For written lies became scarce no words to say

Cant display any bullshit so no news some days

To create has become a deed that’s most rare

The endless word supply left it is not there

A vivid live painting has not been made since

The scary day living in the past’s foot prints

Life after life taken by dark fear and pain

Their mojo lost artists saw a side of sane

That slowly made insane look like the one clue

The pulsing heart beating in a dark so true

Ads became an image to show its still there

Then actors went bankrupt but not a soul cared

The whispers of money came to a quick stop

For without lies valued stocks came to a drop

New legends not coming the sun seems less bright

War over words abused and they lost the fight

Dawn emptied its brilliance then went full with brains

Took only what creates as pay for the stains

A blemished sky, destroyed it, his one whole shield

A stupid lame excuse but there is no field

That experts or people can look to for sense

Some logic or reason why it is past tense

The writer’s block affects all the fields of art

A global and complete death for all was art

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