Morbid, I am

Might just be the only writer who has nothing to write.
Mental block is not a term that’s applicable here because I know it’s not that.
I seem to be running out of ideas to think about;
So obviously writing will be left far behind.
Can’t really blame myself, well that’s just not who I am.
What do I pass on the buck to?
Who do I hold responsible?
Lack of creativity steams from within, it is state of mind.
Novelty is the key to productivity;
This might just be a lesser known fact.
Seem to have nothing that stimulates me,
That’s just how bored I am. Jumped from place to place,
Made leaps in retrospect.
But even that fell short of amusing me.
Should I perceive this as a cry of help?
Why do things not stay exciting?
Why does everything become routine?
And the moment you get comfortable, your blanket snatched away?
Well that should be enough to get my creative juices running…
But the fact staring me in my face is, I’m just left dry.