Staring at a blank page.
It’s like memories of nothing.
Like dreaming of a blank screen.
Starting a fire that won’t light.

Casting thoughts from your mind
to make room for new ones.
Like trying to live a life that’s not yours.

Words mean nothing.
If you could think what I think
you still wouldn’t know.
I don’t.

When I remember,
it doesn’t make sense.
When I don’t,
it does,
And then it goes.

So light a fire and watch it burn,
that’s how we get old.
I’ve not lived much.
It's how it goes.

We all get old.