Blank pages haunt me so.
I want nothing more than
my words to flow
freely from my fingertips.
I crave expression worthy
of her attentiveness.
I want to grant her a repose
from the mediocrity of my
anemically feeble prose.
But my words no longer
shock and stop her heart,
her knees are stronger
and harder to make weak.
And I know my words no
longer impress her because
they no longer impress me.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Blank pages haunt me so.
I want nothing more than
my words to flow
freely from my fingertips.
I crave expression worthy
of her attentiveness.
I want to grant her a repose
from the mediocrity of my
anemically feeble prose.
But my words no longer
shock and stop her heart,
her knees are stronger
and harder to make weak.
And I know my words no
longer impress her because
they no longer impress me.
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