The Artistic Vein

The white screen glares at me from the dark,
Burning into my heart,
And my breath becomes troubled,
Because my fingers have neglected,
Their keyboard lover.

My fingers are guilty,
But they twitch with ambition,
Due to their dormancy.

It was a hibernation,
That offers atrophy,
That corrodes the veins.

An artist's veins tend to stop up when the outlet is blocked.
An exodus is necessary for a strange brain to steam and rest.
A rest is essential for creation to right itself.