Writer’s Block

I cannot think of a title
For this upcoming verse
Of its content I have no idea
So pardon me for being terse. 

I haven’t had a single
Original thought all day
I start to write, and then I stop
And my mind wanders away.

It seems these days whatever I do
I can’t seem to love anything enough
For someone who loves himself a lot
This going can definitely be rough

Is there something wrong with me
For I keep drawing a blank
I feel like a man on pirate ship
Setting out to walk the plank 

Poetry is one of my pleasures
Laziness is quite surely my vice
It makes me flock to passive acts,
To do them I don’t need to think twice.

I’ll gaze all day at the sky
Then I’ll watch something on the telly
I’ll lounge around in my bed all day
Till it starts to get a little smelly 

But if I have to actually perform
The task of active thought
I fumble, get tired or really bored
And produce quite close to naught 

Now that I sit and read this verse
I’ll argue it sounds a little poetic
Ranting might have just solved my woes
For, without doubt it feels cathartic.