Writers block stinks.
I stare at the word document.
The cursor blinking.
Staring back at me, intimidating me.
Daring me.
To type something.
To type anything.
Twist the top off a long-neck bottle.
Maybe a little liquid courage is needed
to take on the little blinking bastard.
Writing stinks.
Ironically, my release?
Writing.
This cursor is inviting.
Wishing me to type more.
Begs me to like it.
Allows me to procrastinate even longer.
Only to return to it's Evil Twin.
And resume the staring match.
Beware little cursor.
You'll never win this one.