On this day, I have no poems in my soul.
Nothing left to give, nothing to hold.
No words that aren't already used, already old.
No stories left inside that haven't yet been told.

On this day, I have no love inside my heart.
Nothing to die for, no place to start.
No ending in sight. No way to part.
No beauty to be made. No hope for art.

On this day, I finally come unglued.
The world spits me out after I am chewed.
There's nothing rare about me. There's nothing new.
I am not special. And neither are you.

On this day, I realize I'm stale.
I'm dried up like dust, and hard as a nail.
A broken piece of porcelain, jagged and pale.
A useless attempt that will always fail.