I grow weary

 

        Still here writing, but as you can see, I have used up most of my vocabulary, all of my verbs and pronouns and I’ve but a handful of punctuation remaining.  I believe I will soon be nothing but a puddle of tired inspiration dripping onto the carpet.

      Ah, the noble puddle of a writer spent — verbs wrung dry, punctuation on life support, inspiration oozing slowly toward the floorboards. It’s a strangely dignified end.

      I’ve fought the good fight with sentence and stanza, and now it’s time to let the ellipses carry me off into the soft shadows of memory.

    ...unless, of course, a semicolon limps in to hold things together a little longer.

 

but it doesn't look promising.