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.


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