A pencil in hand
Mind full of sand
You sit without a thought
Stomach in a knot

Your mind is blank
An empty, hazy fishtank
The sounds of the old house
Envy the sounds of the mouse

The clock stopped turning
Your ideas, never returning
The blank page sits
Almost ready to call it quits

Writer’s block
Devil’s lock
The colors back to monochrome
The worst kind of syndrome