My well has run dry;

Creativity seeps out of the corners to evaporate into thin air.

I try to remember Color, but like a forgotten friend, it shies away.

My fingers meet Emptiness (and not the poetic kind)-

It's so un-fulfilling that the skin burns on contact with this great and immense Nothing.

(a very dangerous thing indeed)

This Nothing that smears the page, hording swathes of space so greedily,

Claiming the wide, eternal expanses of a blank document; punctuated only by that blinking little cursor, so innocent and naïve.

(As if it could ever say anything worthwhile.) But it's just a little hope I harbor, a secret hope that reveals itself in clicks and clacks, thumb caressing space bar, comma, semicolon, period.

End of a good thought drawing a blank. And again—


I feel that somehow writing has become a lot more of a struggle for me than before...when I was younger I was able to just let the words out and pretty much capture my feelings. Now it's really hard for me to fully and accurately express, the precise words seem to escape me. When I try to sit down and write, I spend a lot of time just staring at blank word documents now XD