I've been waiting for a
long time. Behind and between and around
everything that you ever wanted to
express I have lived
forever. The one day, the
one moment when you need it most, your inherent beautiful
creativity, I step forward and
dash your hopes. Like a vice I exist only to
preclude, to
occlude, to destroy.
Nothing but
oblivion will come to you. But it
slips, it
slides away. My
control wanes and I am
defeated. The
spring of creativity moves forward again,
eternal. I step back, I
bide my time. Once again, I am
dormant. Until the next time.
I am writer's block.