What If ?

What if you want to write something to convey yourself to afford the freedom to your opinions to make your name shine at the terminal of your row and you can't find your pen?
What if your pen hates what you wrote?
What if the words get escaped from your papers?
What if your mind which used to be creative get shocked and hardly making up on imagining and guessing?
What if your hand and your fingers stand against you and they easily refuse to run and tie what your brain tells you?
All I want Is life and hope, but I begin to realize that destruction and depression love me more than what I anticipate.