It's a hell of a role

This thing has lodged a place in my soul
Stopping up everything dry
It aches and tears at all that's near
I've stopped trying to pry

I write and I yearn for release
Yet it seems the harder I try
The worse the pain and agony become
All the words I had have run dry

They say that it comes and goes
I fear it, and begin to cry
This thing it is wedged in deep
Won't be budged with any try

I write and I scribble and scratch
This well I have has run dry
My muses abandoned all of my work
I must sit, I am starting to cry