torture

It's not that I'm not inspired.

I am. It's there.

- a greedy handful of ideas inside me, just itching to be tossed out into the open air.

but for some reason, those ideas just simmer in the background. Deep inside. They are only mine to ponder, sitting like a big, fat, ball of weight at the back of my skull - stretching down and across my guts to the corners of my corner-less heart, like a viscous, spidery sheathing.

It's like torture:

When you have the words
But not the pen
When you have the thoughts
But not the mouth
When you have the drive
But not the destination
When you have the passion
But not the release

So the screen stays blank. The paper stays inkless. And I remain trapped inside this ridiculous façade while I pray like hell for someone to unzip me.

Someday, I'll matter more.