There’s nothing at all
In my brain this fall.
I sit here and stare
With thoughts everywhere.

I can’t really read
For my brain won’t heed,
And I tried to write,
But I couldn’t quite.

I can’t concentrate,
I nothing seems straight.
It is pretty hard,
To be so marred.

I always feel ill,
Can’t do what I will;
But then if I could
I’m not sure I would.

And now I’ll be done,
When I’ve scarce begun,
It may be bizarre,
But that’s how things are.

Melody Conjurske
Nov. 28, 2005