Locked in a room with thirty thousand bugs,

Their wriggling legs make my skin crawl and tug,

The earwigs are everywhere, on walls and on floors,

I feel trapped and helpless, with no open doors.

Their pincers twitch and antennae wave,

I try to stay calm, but feel like a slave,

To their endless movements, their eerie sound,

My fear intensifies, I'm hopelessly bound.

I sit and I stare at the screen on my desk

and I watch as my friends make their posts;

my thoughts are awash with great story ideas

but for now, they’re elusive as ghosts.

I long for the days when I cavorted on Prose,

and great poetry spilled from my head,

but I bought this new wireless keyboard and mouse

and all the damned batteries are dead!