What is this? a cluttered room? No, it can’t be.
No space for growth or challenges.
Nothing but books and scraps of scrunched paper failings.
What are you? Myself? is this idiocy I am looking through.
How can you call yourself a mind, a vision, a sound worth hearing.
Listen to me, read carefully and feel my touch.
I am behind you, and within you.
No, you’re not getting it. Look around, you’re alone...I hope.
Oh, of course. No! it’s not sweat on your cheek, it’s me.
I came closer, I tried to stop shouting. I leant in for a closer smell on what you’re thinking.
What I’m thinking? you and I are the same you know.
Excuse me? I said excuse me.
Did you stop listening? did you seriously fall off track to what I’ve been saying this whole time.
Go back, take one more look.
No no no, not what I’ve wrote down for you to look at later incase you forget.
Remember, what did I say earlier. Oh, yes, there it is.
Realisation is your fault. You drift in and out don’t you.
That’s where I came from, you fell from your own line so much that I was left on the curve.
Hello, I am you.
When you throw away that amazing idea on the torn paper.
You put down your dream, why did you do that? why.
Honestly, I’m sad. I can be the nicest guy you’ll ever meet,
but trust me, I can be the worst.
and we are stuck together.
Unless you release me.
Write me. Be me.
You are too great for me to share your mind.
Please. Run.
This is a simple look at to what writer's block does to me.