Writer's Block

I am a person
In the midst of an empty space
The notebook page;
Flipping against the continuous blow
Of the eager electric fan
I enter it as a wholesome word
Positive in meaning
Full on letters
Ample on syllables
The word is
“Enthusiastic.”

I grab a pen
Mighty fine in its 0.5 tip
And sable in its blood
My pen is a warrior
Trudging through the hopeless blizzard
Blank and despondent
Bleeding in his paces
I carry him to write a story.

Along the vast hollowness
The page taunts me
The warrior slowly gets heavier
His veins keep flowing
But his story is halting
My letters sluggishly
Crawl between my arms
Falling apart
Like jigsaw pieces
To an unclear photograph
As the fighter gradually ceases
So does his story
So do I
My head feels numb
My mind gets lost
This wilderness is harsh
Throwing nothing but nuggets of white
Across faded lines and dying ideas
Nature delights itself
As it feeds on the word and his warrior
The young man clots
And falls from the leaves
Of the discordant book
Leaving me in this environment
That only the robust writers can survive in

I am but a degrading word
Beanpole in physique
Spaghetti in consistency
But in this frailty
I am an idealist
Up to the brim on reveries and happiness
Thus my chosen word is
Because I am.

In the end
The frigid temperature
And the hollow paper
Make me lose myself
Hallucinate
Then leaning off
My balance is gone
Now on the ground
Supine and done for
“Enthusiastic”
Now “Dry.”