Seems to me I am capable of writing only when it is not necessary. When I try my hardest to write something worthwhile, when I am motivated and ready to create something beautiful: nothing. I am stuck on the words, they are stiff in my throat, my hands refuse to write without shaking.
I am tapped out and dry, and I have absolutely and entirely nothing to rely on to help ease my pain.
I am stuck, stuck, stuck, in a moment, frozen in time, long since gone and long since lost.
Somehow something horrible has managed to happen (again, again, again) and yet there is nothing to be done.
I am stuck, stuck, stuck, in a moment, frozen in time, long since gone and long since lost. I cannot move forward, I cannot move backward, I can only repeat. The world is moving forth and it is moving forth without me. I am lost. I am a record skipping a beat.