the brushes lay flat
scattered across the yawning table
my canvases scattered, paint incomplete
like the thoughts which fall
from my head in repeat,
I pace the studio
the beloved safe haven
the place where I can be my own
the place where I can cry alone
the paints just glimmer
my fingers cringe at their shimmer
I sit in my studio,
staring at the blank scenes
knotting my hands, twisting my fingers
my heart has lost the appetite
of such delicate vigor
the rain glints in the darkening sky
the windows plastered with darkness
I can't see anything for the being
yet I sit and try
something is not right
it must be a new night
--a new flight--
that must be why