I stare at the blank sheet of paper
And it stares back, a silent taunt
I grasp my pen like a talisman
Hoping to conjure words, not spells of doubt
My hand tightens around its slender form
As if to extract the last drop of life
Red ink bleeds out in anguish
A lifeblood spilled onto the page's white strife
I struggle to tell my story
As my mind and hand fail to synch
And words refuse to flow
The pen scratches, hesitant and slow,
A reluctant heartbeat in my hand's grasp.