Writer's Block

My brain is dull and drab, gases bubbling
In my stomach, proceeding
Upward to the pit of
my throat where an
acrid burn stings, bright
pale paper glaring upward
with its blank authority,
strength in nothingness, a
type of boredom, mocking me,
teasing with hints of
slowly becoming filled,
black worms crawling and
burrowing themselves into
the white bare landscape,
but then again the burning.