Broken.
Ripped apart.
Empty.
A void that needs to be filled.
Feeling nothing,
but the constant disappointment that rises up with every word written,
with every thought shattered like glass
Left on the floor
For someone else to walk over
For someone Looking for something,
but never finding
and never knowing why,
always needing,
only ever understanding
That nothing feels right
And every idea is ephemeral
Chopped up into tiny pieces
Then gone in  Seconds
Drifting away with every thought
Flying high like lost birds
And they never seem to find their way home now
The words are never together
Covered with scribbles that look like waves
Yet they don't flow like a river
They crash and smash into each other as they were a stormy sea
They Jump around the page
And when spoken aloud
All the words clash
Falling to the ground like droplets of rain
And it's over again
A page is filled with nothing but scribbles
And ideas that never fully form
Half done before it's given up and ripped out.
A pen is picked up
A page is turned
and everything starts again.