There is an evil. One who lies dormant in our souls our hole lives, awakening only when we are fit for prey. Coiling it's self around us to a state of immobility, causing us useless pathetic suffering. Forced to attempt to handle our personal predators while others around us remain blissfully unaware of the horrific beasts who taunt us. We are victims of this evil, a disease seemingly without cure. We are writers. We are prisoners. And our jailers, our curse, is the gaping darkness that goes by the title we utter in shame. "writers block"
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