Thoughts,
Empty whispy things,
No emotion...
I sit here trying to cover the page with words,
With thoughtful imitations of emotions,
Poetic blasphemy,
Thinking,
Wondering,
Caustic lights bouncing around my skull illuminating nothing,
Thinking is cold,
Bland,
Dark...
Telling myself to feel,
But my thoughts stay blank,
Literally bursting with ideas,
Exploding with words,
Ripped and torn by mathematical equations...
But full,
To the top,
Drowning in thought and starved of emotion,
Where are my feelings...
Further trying to explain my idea through definitions strung together,
Like a necklace made out of shells,
Beautiful,
Ugly,
As it shines,
But inside the shells are just that,
Shells of past souls,
Sitting there empty, around my neck...
Comparing myself to a shell is outrageous,
Asinine...
But this analogy holds true,
As ugly and crude as it is,
For I am just a shell...
Trying to be a poet...