MOVE

The Machine is dry.
I hate it when that happens
It is enough to want to make you cry.
All you want to do is pour your heart out
Shout and scream
Voice your anger
At the injustice of it all.
But the right words refuse
To come forwards
And you lousy output sounds like
Me Me Me Me Me Me Me.
Nothing to make one laugh
At the irony, the craziness, the stupidity
Of it all.
Nothing to make one feel Sentiments,
Good, bad or indifferent.
Nothing to make a person laugh or cry
Also
Me Me Me Me Me Me Me.
Bland and just blah blah blah meaning nothing.
No craftsmanship,
Not even a mile close to the geniuses of yore,
These men and women knew how to throw a punch
All I (we?) can do is to try harder
Activate, kick the cobwebs out of our brain
Kick the synapses around
And end up with more decent writing
And less moaning.