Blank

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
SOMETHING.
But I can't.
My mind is blank.