Tongue-Tied

Everything she wrote sounded wrong in her head. It was late, and the candle had burnt almost down to the holder, wax spilt onto the desk and corners of her pages. Frustration grew like a lump in her throat, knots formed in her forehead as she strained to pull the words from the tip of her tongue in a way that would make sense on the page. Tongue-tied. Knots. Creating something new and beautiful was impossible. So she wrote about her sudden inability to write.
9/1/12, 8 notes

  1. poemsofthesoul posted this

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