I sit here blank.
The blue lines, so empty,
So bare.
My mind races with ideas to fill them,
But nothing sticks.
Melody lacks in my speech.
The paper waits, still.
Waiting for the words
to be scratched upon it.
It’s a blank canvas
and my mind is the artist
attempting to splash creativity
in its most perfect form.
The weight of the world
is on my shoulders,
causing me to slouch in my seat.
Exhale.
There’s nothing to say.
Maybe I will fill that paper another day.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
I sit here blank.
The blue lines, so empty,
So bare.
My mind races with ideas to fill them,
But nothing sticks.
Melody lacks in my speech.
The paper waits, still.
Waiting for the words
to be scratched upon it.
It’s a blank canvas
and my mind is the artist
attempting to splash creativity
in its most perfect form.
The weight of the world
is on my shoulders,
causing me to slouch in my seat.
Exhale.
There’s nothing to say.
Maybe I will fill that paper another day.
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