I know I want to write. I know I need to write.
I feel it screaming at me to let it out.
The blank screen stares at me. Mocks me. Reminds me that I don’t write.
Reminds me the words inside are fleeting and meaningless.
Haunts me with the nothingness in my brain.
So I walk. I walk to jog the thoughts into words.
My walk becomes pointless. Thoughtless. Aimless.
I know what is right. I know what I need to be right.
One thing. Everything.
Squelching the scream inside.
Staring down the oblivion. The absence.
Catching the certain. With uncertainty.
So I sit here and write about nothing. Knowing it is not right.