A man presses down the keys through the night, continuously as he always has
No plan of action, just a man who is sad about mishaps with a mind full of regrets, squandered moments, and plenty of wasted opportunities
Took a skill he possessed, instead of igniting it like the flame he swore he always had
It drifted off, floating along as a washed away piece of wood amongst the ocean

His fingers crash hard against the keyboard, with no music to be heard
Just heart felt words which rarely carry over to the reader
Just so happens that’s what he has been lacking
No one to read those dark words struck into the paper
He has accepted his fate, just a man and his typewriter

A dreamer, to compose deep, emotional, and moving work
Sunken in too deep for his own **** emotions
He sits still, yet restless, feeling helpless
Feeling unworthy, a daze strikes in the form of ever-so-swift hands
Pounding heavier than the storm within his head
Steam rolling off the letters as bliss was sure to follow

His fingers ferociously slammed the hammers against the paper roll  
As hours went by without any ordeal, he had wrote from his heart with dire truth
Finally, a piece he could be proud of, but as the open window gave in to the breeze
A realization came through; this was still not the one and so he again accepted defeat
As he was just a sad man, with a dead beat skill, and a beat down typewriter