Ugh.
White.
Empty.
Nothing.
Lines and lines of . . .
So much space.
Waiting to be filled.
Waiting for life.
Words are . . .
Everything is slipping away.
Thoughts flutter and disappear before making landfall.
Ideas?
Nonsense.
Grasping, hoping.
Staring.
Blank pages beg for black ink.
Doodles take the place of nouns, verbs, adjectives.
Nothing takes shape.
Stories are . . .
Lost in space somewhere, are my previous . . .
Everything.
Everything is slipping away.
Tongue twisting in anguish as words fail to appear.
Parched.
Begging for salvation.
Longing for what once was.
A writer without words is . . .
Empty.
Nothing.
Lines and lines of . . .
So much space.
Waiting to be filled.
Waiting for life.
Words are . . .
Everything is slipping away.
Thoughts flutter and disappear before making landfall.
Ideas?
Nonsense.
Grasping, hoping.
Staring.
Blank pages beg for black ink.
Doodles take the place of nouns, verbs, adjectives.
Nothing takes shape.
Stories are . . .
Lost in space somewhere, are my previous . . .
Everything.
Everything is slipping away.
Tongue twisting in anguish as words fail to appear.
Parched.
Begging for salvation.
Longing for what once was.
A writer without words is . . .