There is nothing more difficult than looking at a blank piece of paper. A desire to write but no idea of what words to use or how to stitch them together. Focusing on the content and on making writing aesthetically pleasing to the hear, the author forgets the reason that brought this piece of paper to life. Be aware that whatever is put into words will not be as raw as it should be. Words, sentences, paragraphs... these vehicles of thought are just barriers to the full expression of an ill mind. While it should be the cure to sickness, writing becomes the origin of self-destructive human beings. It's a maze one can't get out of. There's always a better way of expression, all of them faulty representations of a bleeding soul. The writer will settle to swimming in a glass of water knowing there is a river. Lost in the maze.
Sometimes I wish there was no blank piece of paper. But it never happens. So while I am listening to the drops of water harmoniously flowing across the river, the nightmare begins again. Here I am, a bleeding soul, with just a pen to fight my demons. There is nothing more difficult than looking at a blank piece of paper with a bleeding soul and an empty mind.