Writer's Block

In this short description I write about how painfully frustrating it can be to be unable to finish a story, lyrics, and so on. How it can get inside you and tear you apart, and irritate you until the words can finally escape.


1. A Short Story

My hand is hovering over the thin parchment. My pen is shaking from it's need to allow the ink to flow from within it, from the words it so desperately wants to give way to.

But I wait.

The words haven't quite come to me yet, they sit on the edge waiting to topple over. I'm waiting but nothing comes. I prolong my patience, I wait yet another while longer, but still nothing makes sense in my mind. Words are flooding my brain, touching my lips, teasing my senses. I sit, overwhelmed by this longing and confusion that sweeps over me.

I don't understand. None of this makes sense. How can I struggle to write the words I can feel inside, the words I was so certain that I could no longer contain, the words that are now so lost in my mind, so messed up, that I can barely manage to think of anything else while these demons take over me. And yet, despite my lack of containment that I feel, I still can't write.

I'm lost. So lost for words.

No, wait! There...there! I can feel them reaching out, reaching through my whole body, stretching up past my lungs as I respire. Caressing me, torturing me, taunting me, the whole time, laughing at me. They laugh because they know the control me, they've realised that they can make or break me.

I breathe out letting them reach the tip of my tongue, giving them the chance to escape from their cage, showing them freedom, and just as I'm so close to the release of them, I breathe back in and with the breath I pull the words back in, taking them from my grasp once again.

I want to flood the paper with tears now, instead of words, to scream so high I lose all possibility of speaking again, stopping this from ever being possible again, I want to run and hide from the pain but I know I must endure this in order to reach the end.

They're still there, like they always are. On the edge, sniggering, making snide remarks at me. That's when the realisation hits me. There's no escape, I'm stuck.

My throat begins to ache, I'm feeling sore. I'm choking. They're choking me.

Suddenly, I hear the most excruciating sound and my ears are pierced with sounds that somewhat resemble the shrieking of nails scraping against a chalkboard, and what seems to be someone crying, screaming, right into my ear making my ear drums throb as if they're about to burst, explode into a million little pieces. I search the lonely room with wide eyes in an attempt to discover the source of the sickening noise and then remember I'm isolated in this place. I'm alone. The only source could be me.

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