I try to defy my mental block,
I scrape my head,
becoming harsher on myself
as I force emotions to be penned
into words.
But all what comes is
incoherent, inadequate,
dots and strokes.

The words are fleeting,
they've lost their meaning.
Out of synch,
out of thought,
out of ink.

Writer's block,
is where I sink.

I never know what to write.

I'm trying but I can't win the fight.

This "thing" prevents me from thinking.

Sometimes I feel like breaking.


I don't know what to write anymore.

I can't write just like before.

This writers block is getting to me.

Once this is over, I'll go on a writing spree.

I am out of control.

I feel it in my soul.

I'm tearing apart again.

Tearing apart just like then.


It hurts me so badly,

being stuck in a fake reality.

Not being able to write.

Not able to see the light.


This is all hard to comprehend.

Tell me; When will it all end?

Some days
There's a fountain
In my soul
Shooting up words
And thoughts
Clear fresh water
Droplets on a page

Some days
The well goes dry
Eyes burning
Free from tears
No words
No love
This is worse somehow

Once a writer, always a writer.
Forgive me if I question this now
I lost my words- I wish I knew how.

How many hours
spent scribbling these poems?
How many days wasted
rereading them,
nudging and prodding
each word into its proper place
until it all flowed and sounded...

still not quite right.

i stared at it.
it's been over two weeks since i've written a piece and it's been over a month since i continued my book.
hopeful that it'd move and let me write,
like the way my cat likes to sleep on my keyboard.
please move.