It wasn't as if she had not tried

it was simply that she couldn't

she was a writer that simply

couldn't write

her mind spewed forth ideas

and they disappeared, flittering just out of reach

spindly fingers clawing for release

a build up of almost-sexual tension

drove her insane

she longed and pined for and ached

and pen in hand, no words were forthcoming

blank eyes stared at blank paper

everything

turning

into

ash