Why is my mind so empty?

I sit at my computer, fingers touching the keyboard fecklessly as they long to turn thoughts into words.

But nothing comes out.

“Here I will be inspired!” I spouted like the Pharisee. “I will be the one to tell this story!”

Is that a fact? Then show them. Show me.

The voice in my head has come to taunt me again.

I’m waiting, waiting for another misguided attempt at relevance.

Its jeers tinged with truth.

You fancy yourself a writer? An architect of verb and tense?

I close my eyes for a time, relegating that voice back into the utter dark, and my fingers begin to peck at the keys like birds on seed-laden sunflowers. I open my weary eyes on a sentence:

“Why is my mind so empty?”