There is something chaotic about writer's block,
A catastrophe that every writer faces during their search for creativity,
The mundane flashing of a cursor on a word document,
The point of the pen barely scratching the surface of the paper.

It feels as if we have been kidnapped from our fantasy and plunged into reality,
We feel trapped, locked away in a place far beyond the reach of inspiration,
A bag placed over our heads and slowly suffocating us,
Each breath dissolving,
Each memory crumbling,
Each ounce if strength weakening.

It seems inevitable,
To stare through the barred windows of our empty minds,
Our hands sliding between the gaps and trying to feel the warm sunlight of creativity,
To feel the cool breeze of an idea,
To taste the forbidden fruit of our inner desires.

And when we think we have broken out of the clutches of a blank mind,
We face the inevitable task of jumping over the canyon we have come to know as a risk,
Flight or fall
Destiny or death
Success or sorrow

**All for the sake of articulating a single word on a sheet to begin another journey into the unknown