Stories of a Restless Mind

I want to write but... Nothing?

Why. Not. ?

I keep looking for a purpose in every cell block that encases my mind and I'm stumbling.

Why yes, this is a poem about how I have writer's block.

Why yes, I have lost my purpose for everything, even to write.

Why yes, it hurts to merely think of composing strands of words together to form simple sentences that structure minute thoughts.

I delve into the deepest cubicles in my dormant dungeon I call a brain, and yet still I come up empty.

How is that so?

But.

This. Is. My. World.

So.

What is writer's block?

Is it not knowing what to write about?

Or not having a purpose?