Writers Block

Brain melting down, whirling around making that sound. Grey matter, such artistic splatter, reality sets in.
What happened I asked without a reply, death rattle sigh, all alone I cry.
Sometimes answers do come from other places, unknown spaces, fractured and displaced I reset frantically, to no avail.
My own personal hell from which I keep hidden, speaking the name is forbidden, guilt ridden.
An outer realm awaits me, there lies a torture device with my name written on it, in the blood of my ancestors in a language I no longer speak.
It longs for the sweet taste of the blood so familiar yet different from the last generation and different than the next.
It rejoices in storms, thunder and lightning is it's screams and yells beckoning me to hell.
The power has been out for hours, candles flicker slowly, their rhythmic dance calls me closer. Hypnotic trance, candles dance, in the flames I see that place full of my disgrace.
The smell of jasmine scented candles intertwined with the stench of singed hair puts me there, you know where.
If I could blink, maybe a wink, a slight refrain from this stain on my soul.
I scream without a sound, silence abound, heading down, to that still awaiting hellish place.
I want to save you, save you all, pagan sacrifice would be nice.
I secretly want you to join me there, why suffer alone, so far from home.
I pretend to be heroic, valiantly stoic, your hero has arrived in time to offer salvation, for himself.
My shame slowly fans your flames, I am next again, looking for a taker for my sin.
The heat boils my tears of regret, but I cannot forget, it is better you than me.
I am once again set free, they will soon find me, because I always dwell in that dark place.
I secretly enjoy the bittersweet feelings of failure and demise, it makes me human I surmise, to wear my faults for all to see.
Please look at me I am just like you, I fail sometimes no matter what I do.
My ink well is so lonely, if only, I could plunge into the liquid darkness and make believe I am valid. Inky dark and cloudy as hell, if only I was lucid enough to tell, what the hell I am doing, still screwing, with the notion I can write.
While I suffer in silent shadows the world keeps a turning, never learning, the difference of heaven and hell, just as well.
I am ready to give in, again and again, watch it spin, faster, faster and faster.
Revelation is at hand, how fucking grand, so spent I can barely stand.
Relief is finally here, it has become apparent and oh so clear, that I really have no problem at all.
To write is to empty one's soul and guts out for all to see, please praise me, for my entrails have gotten quite tender, shall I render, guts in a blender?
Chained and beaten, days since I have eaten, gaunt and retreating, a hell of a man, is but just a shell of that man, understand?
I say you do not see, how this has twisted me, do not need your approval, I want you to request my removal.
Tell me you love it and you're a liar, manuscript tossed to the fire, draw your fierce ire.
Tell me it sucks, and I say to you “Aw shucks.” I hate it too, I hate the author and I hate you too, but what am I to do?
Write something pleasant?
Yea right, good night.