It is on day thirteen,
when truth kicks in.
Nothing is going to save you.
Just cold, hard, slog.
Eating chocolate log with out the cream,
To sustain you,
Tricksy words twist away.
Poems don't want to play,
Though the prompts may entertain you.
Now it's do a poem, or die.
No rhyme, no more pie
While lack of imagination constrains you.
No fortunes.
No fortunes made on day thirteen
Just prose and poems, and odd things inbetween.
The only truth you know today.
It's day fourteen soon, in one more day!
14th April 2014
The prompt from napowrimo was fortune cookies. Think I went off on a tangent somewhat!
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