We.

We all have the tormenting wall that prevents us from writing.

Creativity.

The creativity we produce, as authors, poets, and novelists is our passion.

Cold.

A frozen state, stricken to the very core of my existence.

Alone.

Alone in my mind to ponder why I’m not moving.

Hesitant.

Hesitant that even with the future planned, I can’t move.

Light.

Light is what I reach out for in my time of need.

Help.

None given to those who work so hard and gain so little.

Write.

I write this and think overlapping thoughts, but when the pencil kisses the paper,

Nothing.

Nothing is what I get for my impenetrable writers block.