Devoid Of Words

There are days when words are pouring out of heart, rushing through my veins to my hand to be jotted down. But laziness does'nt let it done. And there're days, so forlorn, when I feel desperate to write, being a hobbyist, but nothing comes up inside. And passing those days is hard. They linger in the most awful manner. You feel everything yet there's a sensation of being dead. The struggle that I put to force out words, that time, frustrates me terribly.

Writing is catharsis to me. It offers me a strange psychological contentment. It holds the power to take away my blue, and return me with the happy colors. But when the blankness takes over, it makes me numb, hence the struggle, which is useless, becomes a nightmare. The never ending series of blank pages discomfits me, beg me to mark them either with the soul deep sentiments or the horror of insecurities. It longs for words just like a thirsty desert man craves oasis. When I don't render them words, the pages torment me.

Why hollowness has to turn up, sooner or later? Why can't words remain constant? With each strike of emptiness, comes the anxiety. Being devoid of words is a torture, a punishment of something huge.

I just like my words to keep flowing and never stop.

Reviews

[Najam Us Saher]

Yes...every writer feels the same. Keep writing. I hope you don't mind me telling this could you please change the format of your writing they confuse me a bit while reading.

[Long Whispers]

Can you elaborate me how do I change it? I'd love to work over my format. Thanks for the words!

[Najam Us Saher]

I meant the tint it is irksome a bit. And you're welcome ☺

[Long Whispers]

I'll change it!