she can't think straight and the words refuse
to flow through her fingertips that she once thought
were never-ending fountains of thoughts, but now
she can't seem to get even a trickle to even moisten
the blank paper in front of her and her brain feels like it is
screaming to let things out, but she just doesn't have the words
for some strange reason and she doesn't like it, doesn't like
not being able to write and she longs to unblock the fountains
in her fingers and pour words from her mind into the world via
a white, blank piece of paper.
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