Is my final line already here?  

Fear of a blank page reappeared. 

 

Repetition in my head reeks of dead air. 

Judgemental dread drags out the nightmare. 

 

I spill out my words 

which I think from the start 

are the perfect ones. 

 

They fall apart 

don’t mean a lot. 

 

Let me down 

lose my plot. 

 

Well, how do I plead? 

A poet indeed. 

 

Go revamp your lines. 

 

A big debt to Supertramp, particularly for the words of 'If Everyone was Listening' from the album 'Crime of the Century'.