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Category: Poetry
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I cannot write.

I try but dust forms in my mouth.

My fingertips soften

And the keys feel as sandpaper.

I breath in doubt

And out frustration.

The little metal top whirls off the edge.

I am left there 

With only the silent company of the screen.

The fly buzzes and thuds

As it beats itself against the glass of the window pane.

My back is now infused with the wood of the chair.

My eyes stare through

The wall

The desk

The truth.

The room stifles

As blankets pulled over my head.

I try to begin.

I cannot write.