A Writer's Block

"Etherized upon a table"
While trying to write something I have hit a wall – a writer’s block. What is this writer’s block in its true essence? Is it the rushing of the thoughts which overwhelms the highways of the neurons in the brain? Is it a tsunami of ideas which leaves the head numb; incapable of processing the ideas? Or is it frustration that rises by the realization of the fact that one’s ideas are nothing more than abstraction spread over the papers; a bunch of futile keystrokes that can generate a page of clever text, but nothing of intrinsic value to the human life. My writings are the representation of an innate instinct of expression. The desire to express what I perceive through my eyes – thousand and thousands of words for every picture I see through them.
I have seen it all; I have seen all the pictures – each picture portraying an emotion. I see them every passing second; those black and white pictures, which are then colored by the crayons of my imagination. I love to fill them up with color; red, blue, green, black, black, black and all the seven colors in the rainbow of the night. I create masterpieces within my head, and I exhibit them into my words invainly. I present to you what you see all around and still never care to notice. You hear the words, you read the scribbling on the walls and then you chose not to notice. You chose not to see, you chose not to hear, and you chose to ignore me. You do it over and over again and I die with every word you read.
Sweet is the headache which is rooted behind the eyeball. It takes over the nerves with a fiendish delight until those spots of white light starts flashing infront of the eyes. Each flash separated by a moment’s interval and each lasting for a moment. Its a moment that seems to span an eternity.
This is indeed a writer’s block. After writing all this crap, I still cant think of a single word which relates to what I was originally writing.