I can yell at my pen, pull at my hand, but there's no words this paper can comprehend. My thoughts are stuck in a box, stubbornly clustered together, not willing to talk. I try to persuade them, but they crave my inner creativity, not the monotonous reality I live in. They want to dance in the rain, swim in the ocean, or even find a mysterious love potion. But I can't take them there - I don't know how to piece them together, It is as if my artistic streak vanished in thin air.