Blank face
stares at a blank page
there was so much to tell
the thoughts whirling in space
within that mind,
confused,
edgy,
but nothing would spill.
If the finger could be pricked,
and blood poured,
its dark mad rush
could exhibit,
the craving contained,
but there was no puncture
that could let out the rage,
and let in air,
that could whistle through the veins
and fill the hollow gut
that remained.