Within the first breaths
of the early morning hours,
I lie in the dim abyss of my room.
I can’t help but feel a cold, empty
and heavy void in the entirety of my abdomen
as I wonder
if I will ever have a chance to have
someone, or something,
know every inch of me
like my pen does.

Same, same, same, same,
Same, same, same;
Words, words, words, words, words;
Something about love,
Something about life;

Copy // paste broken feelings;
Attempts at a deeper meaning;
Trapped with the same words,
Said differently;
Seven hundred plus posted poems,
Seven hundred more I scrapped;
But every one I write,
Feels like I'm on page one...