Writer's Block!

Writing sucks! It fucks you up horribly yet you need it like a junkie needs his cocaine. How can something so beautiful make you feel so bad? How can it create such sadness when it can give such joy?

Sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in a glass cage. People se me yet they cannot hear me cry for help. The only way to communicate is through writing, but how can you when your mind blacks out at the idea of letting a pen run on a paper?

Then water enters the box. Ice cold water that rises fast around you. Up to your neck and around your throat it settles like a noose and then higher into your mouth, over your head. And all you can do is hope for a miracle you know can't happen and pray to a god who's existence you don't believe in.

And as your lungs start crying for oxygen and your throat starts getting used to the feeling of suffocation, your brain starts shutting down. And for one blissful moment you've found paradise. A place where no thoughts are present, it's just you and the peaceful silence.