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takes my hand, covers my eyes, leads me to darkness, swallows me whole, consumes me like salt water, breaks me in half, stifles my soul, chokes me, grabs me, throws me into hard objects, gives me bruises, i feel ridiculous, my job can't be done, i feel weak, i feel insignificant, i feel like i don't belong.

is my laptop broken? my pen? my paper? no, it's just my brain. telling me it's had E N O U G H of this crap. of this writing. this constant thinking. you think you can be a fucking writer? brain says to me. you cant even write a simple story. you think you can do it? well do ya punk? well, i was feeling lucky till i started talking out loud to myself.

well, what can i do? do i abandon this project? come back to it later? will it ever get done? i thought it was a good idea. i thought i could take this somewhere. somewhere deep and controversial. somewhere smart and uninhibited. but i guess it will stay inside this tiny box of a computer. i will never be a writer.

i will always have

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