You'd think there'd be words there.
That was a stanza's worth of space.
You'd think there'd be hidden meaning.
But there wasn't. Whoops.

I thought poetry would keep me.
I thought rhymes would hold me.
I thought feeling would guide my hand.
But it didn't. Whoops.

I thought I'd write forever.
I thought my creativity would last.
You thought there'd be worth here.
You thought this was time well spent.

But.

Whoops.
There's nothing here.