Words, are closing in around me.

From within my clotted mind I cannot set them free.

I am drowning in a puddle of my own words.

This is absurd.

This cannot be real?

A writer condemned by words?

These words, how they do accumulate.

Death by beheading upon the writers block

could this become my fate?

To pull these words from my head.

If only I could write them down.

Then maybe, just maybe. . .

in this puddle of my own words I could swim

instead of drown.

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