Writing at Night

Too many thoughts in my head.
Cacophony of characters crying out: “Breathe me! Tell me! Be me!”
Yawning, groaning, gaping plot holes that need filling; not enough shovels.
A knotted chain of roads and destinations; can’t find the map.
Too much cauliflower and not enough meat.
Dozens of half-animated corpses twitching on the table—not enough lightning to power them.
The ugly un-thing born of writer’s block and inspiration, of second guessing.
Of self-guessing, Of self-doubting.
Time for us all to go to sleep.