• In the darkness of this room
    dwells a demon of pen and paper
    whose blood drips black
    like the ink from the pen he wields
    A frustrated mass of quaking feelings
    of jumbled confusion of emotion
    a mighty hurricane
    contained by flesh and bone
    each night, for many nights
    he sits
    staring down at the paper before him
    like a predator silently watching its prey
    For many moments
    he'll remain this way
    quietly watching the white sheet
    almost wishing the words from his head to paper
    He'll beat the pen against his skull
    like a mighty barbarian drummer
    a vain attempt
    to make the words drop to the pens tip
    He'll drown his ears with music
    from all corners of the earth
    praying that one
    may inspire a story or poem

    Finally
    he throw his pen down
    he'll shove the paper away
    as if it were a sign of his very failure
    He'll pick himself up
    eyes heavy and mind weary
    and he'll drag ever footfall
    till he'll crumble down in that coffin that is his bed
    and he'll wallow
    his thoughts still trap in the cage of his mind
    and he'll slowly sink into a restless slumber
    hoping that tomorrow will come soon

    that he might try once more to tame the restless beast of pen and paper