CWD

There are people who complain,

Of suffering writer’s block

And no doubt a heartfelt pain,

When one hits this granite rock.

Yet little know of sickness,

One called, ‘CWD ‘

And as god is my witness,

Is inflicted upon me.

Prevents me from a night’s sleep,

Enslaves me to my laptop,

With thoughts that are way too deep

And memories which won’t stop.

Spend days in my pyjamas

And nights in cyberspace,

Down a couple of calmers

To control my rate of pace.

Rarely consider a meal

And I’m always running late,

My friends make such a big deal,

Turning late into debate.

Return phone calls overlooked,

Not to mention the damned bills,

Because I am simply hooked

On prescription worse than pills.

Over-post on writers site;

Never quite sure which to pick,

But the chances won’t be right,

As ‘too quick,’ makes others sick.

‘Compulsive Write Disorder,’

Equally as big a knock,

As those who often border

On that dreaded writer’s block.