This ******* writers block has me claustrophobic.

The pressure of the air around me has me struggling to breath.

My hand is sore from an imminent future of carpal tunnel syndrome,

And my mind is wandering from a sad past that I won’t remember.

Age has taken its toll on me and this youth of mine is wasted.

The only things I have left to admire are the women that remain unmoved by my lack of maturity, and remain despite my ignorance.

I’ve written quite a bit throughout my years, but I have never created anything that has fully filled the void left by a presence that was never there.

I’ve never written anything that will satisfy my need of a perfectly paradoxical phrase that will always be embedded within your soul, or mine, and yet i continue to write.

Even now as the keys on the keyboard quickly click and clack together.

I search through the vast and endless realms of the universe for a glimpse of a spark that will ignite the fuse of the core of my imagination, and have all the thoughts that i have ever thought blown out from an explosion so vast and powerful that those thoughts would become desperate.

Hopefully, through their desperation they will come together.

One can only wish that those thoughts will rearrange themselves, and create a logical structure that will one day come back to me.

The thought of death does not scare me.

The thought of being forgotten in my times when the world seems new breaks my very existence.

The pressures of the world don’t way heavy on my shoulders,

But if I could come up with something to write it would be awesome.

-J.Cruz Hernandez