Brain dead

Writer's block killed my brain. And now it's dead. Like a long stretch of white during a partial vision loss. I try to squeeze words out of my pen as the empty piece of paper in front of me screams insults at me telling me that I am never going to be the writer I dreamed to be. Just like how the cursor blinks repeatedly, impatient for the next words.

The ink has run out.

I have died.