A Work in Progress

I sit here staring at the page wallowing in silent rage as I look for the perfect word to fill the void… Void… Fuck! What rhymes with void? I become annoyed that I am devoid of ideas as all the good ones have either been deployed or destroyed. I would be overjoyed, if only I could have employed the perfect word, Forget it. I am unfit to play along with this game of wits. I compose something to submit, defending the merit of my paper. If only I could sell my ideas as well as Don Draper. I’ll use the thesaurus to fill this page so porous, The one fucking part with a gap, a hole, a space, a waiting abyss... Ah, it’s perfect. It sounds Sophisticated, Cultivated, Cultured, Seasoned with a sprinkle of depiction and a dash of diction, both necessary to deliver my words with solid conviction. I guess I suffer from an affliction or maybe an addiction to find that perfect word. I can’t be deterred in my search for the one that will be heard over all else. The word that will be referred to in the years to come The word that will shelter the bums and heal the slums The perfect word that will have the power to make a crowd feel numb As they succumb to my poetry.