You wait for words to flow
Though they shy away and hide
Your lone solace is the pen to your nothingness
But even phrases seem to not be on your side.
Stubbornly still, you coax out the plight
Nothing to say, yet you write.
Neither deserted, nor defeated
Yet, with nothing to hold your attention
No takers for your affection
No filter to your words
No fear of consequence down the road
Honest to a fault, somewhere between wrong and right
To feed the emptiness, you write.
If an empty page is an invitation
To write the life you lead
Why then, chained by the usual plots
Does your protagonist bleed?
The storyteller in you still has left one good fight
With the hope to add adventure to your story, you write.