Block

Your fingers hover above the keyboard;

Your hand grips the pen.

However, writing on a day like today is like driving a car with an empty gas tank: useless. Nothing will come of these efforts, you aren't going to get anywhere.

It's been like that for months now.

It is't that the ideas have stopped, no, they're still visiting at a steady flow.

During class yesterday you had the idea for a poem,

While you were in line at the cafe last week you had an excellent idea for a short story.

And yet here you are, an idea flying around your head with no way to get out. But when you get home and devote time to articulating all of these wonderful ideas you never seem to run out of.. Nothing.

Your head is a windowless and doorless room,

Your head is a labyrinth,

Your head is a black hole.