Writer’s Block

How do you do that?
Insert both feet and talk like that?

It’s a talent I have,
one I developed as a child.

It’s quite impressive,
but is it useful?

Quite. I’m able to not only hurt my friends,
but myself as well.

Sounds painful, though.
Doesn’t the bootblack taste awful?

Most definitely.
I have gotten used to it, though.

Crawling fingers up the spine,
shaking hands clutching emptily.
The deep yawning pit,
swallowing your soul.

Building slowly,
creeping into your mind,
creating nightmares from phantoms,
and turning phantoms into hallucinations

Shaking hands lead to shaking body,
Shivering from a cold brought from inside.
Vainly trying to warm a heart paralyzed by fear.

A bow, a salute,
A kind word.
Courtesy, politeness,
A ready smile,
Always present,
never threatening,
never intrusive.
A friendly presence,
comforting, safe.

And always,
finishing last.

There is laughter in the air,
but it is not mine.
Conversation flows,
around me, not through.
My mouth opens,
but I am not heard.
There is a bond here,
but I am not a part of it.
I am detached,
and I detach.
The distance is short,
yet the gulf is uncrossable.
I disappear
and no one notices.

Deep inside, where no one can see,
a empty spot lies on my soul.
There is no filling it,
because the hunger it brings,
is not physical,
but the warmth and comfort
that only love brings.

Arms enfolding,
drawing tighter,
keeping out the dark
and driving out pain.

Someone to let me know,
I am not alone,
I do not have to be lonely,
I do not have to be scared.

Even for one night,
someone to hold me,
and let me cry
Let me shed my pain.