I find myself unable to take myself seriously.
Meaningless words bubble from my lips like a spilt teapot consuming the unused space below,
My voice is eerily vacant of any tone,
any sign that I might feel alive is mute and unknown.
My writing filled with banal rhymes to appease my status quo.
Desperately my fingers fly across the keyboard desperate for some substance,
but all I hear is tap tap tap...then silence.
I suppose I could analyze the deeper meanings here, but my brain is hardwired to avoid my problems and all my analysis brings tears.
Because everything I see or touch or consume
reminds me of how my emptiness is a show
my feelings anchored to a place I do not yet know.