Mocking me. Staring at me with it’s thumbs against its temples
Fingers splayed like antlers on a moose,
Tongue stuck out, nose wrinkled.
Teasing. Taunting. Telling me there’s nothing to write,
Nothing in my head.
Yet my fingers tickle the keys, pointers on the homerow.
Waiting for something to materialize through the brain fog
Like smog that sits stifling cities
The voices are talking
But it sounds like they’re under water
I’m here trying to hear
To clear the muffled sound
So I can write something you will want to read
But all the cursor does is sit on a field of white
This is what happens when I sit and stare at white screen for too long. I’ll try again tomorrow.