How blank is my mind?
More so than the piece of paper
in front of me.
My grip tightens on my pencil
and pain creeps slowly up my fingers
but I do not relax my
hand; if anything, my fingerpads constrict
against the cold wood.
The words are so near, yet so far
How they escape me
the faster I chase
Come on, think, I told myself.
But I could not.
I should be able to write
But I can't.
My mind is blank.