I am sick
With the worst disease of my kind
A cold sweat setting in
My scalp itching
Skin crawling as if bugs have taken a residency
The palms of my hands clammy against my pencil
A fiery fever in my mind

Unfinished works lay around me
The sun lighting the room does no good
Colors turn to grey
The only bright left is the red of my eyes
My will to move depletes with each tick of the clock
I refuse to rest my feverish head
Although I know I should

My psyche holding me captive
The illness driving me crazy
I call the nurse but she just laughs
Tells me to walk away from the paper
She is right
But the paper is my prison
My sight now turning hazy

I am searching for inspiration
Hunting for one stanza at least
My head aches with lack of words
I feel my stomach knot
Fear of nausea creeping in my throat
How I wish to lay at rest
Tucked under the comfort of a finished piece

I cannot find my cure
Never-ending time plays with the clock
Sitting on the table near my bed
I threw my notebook
Motivated by insanity
I am sick
My illness is writers block