Originally written as an Honors English assignment in my freshman year, I lost the first copy of this poem, and so I have reconstructed it. The original was much, much better. I promise.

It was intended to depict the feeling of "writer's block." As a writer myself, I have occasionally suffered from this unfortunate ailment.

It was also intended to be the poetry counterpart to a story I had written in that same class, called "Utopia." The story is about a man who makes his living from writing, and having run out of ideas, he writes of a place where everything is perfect. Suddenly, he wakes up, realizing he is in a dream. The setting of his dream is his "Utopia," or the perfect place he knows cannot exist. Long story short, he is trapped within his own mind, in a vast field of grey, without color or substance, unable to awake from his dream. Or nightmare, however you perceive it.

(Lovecraftian, I know, and if I could remember where I put the original copy I would submit it, and you would see that the character's name is William Lovecraft. An homage, to one of the greatest writers.)