my writer's block interrupted by a back spasm

Next to Normal plays as I lay
on the ground of my dormitory box.
The music is slightly sad and picked
for the purpose of an angsty mood.
The scene includes past and present
journals strewn about the floor.
I read the old and stare at the new.
The snow is heavy and there's nothing to do,
like there's nothing in my head.

There's nothing in my head.

I move to stretch my back
and pain shoots down my spine--
neurons telling me that was a bad idea.
I wish they would warn me first.
Like, when there was a knock on the door
that I could have ignored.
But I opened it and you walked in.

I opened it and you walked in.

And now you need what I can't give.
There's music playing in your head.
It says love will come, but it's not here.
It says pain will end, but it is here.
This is pain, shooting through you,
and I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.