It is my day off
The day I assign to writing
The blank pages sadden me
I splatter my words across the space
Some will be OK
I’m ashamed and embarrassed about them
Writing used to be a joy
But I submit some half-baked essay to a magazine
Because the alternative is not to get paid

I’m good at selling rubbish.

So I switch on a massage video

All whispers and brushing and scratching

My head tingles
My eyes roll back
And I sleep