What more is there to say? How can I keep filling up this empty page With the same tired words Every single day? Repeating always That which has already been said; When the words run dry And their meaning’s dead, I’m left with dull forms That from this dark pen have bled Black onto this neatly lined page – My confusion, my sadness, My infinite rage, Will never be known Or felt by another As long as I hide Behind these empty phrases And worn-out, empty lines. Go on now, Fill up the page. Notice how the words come now With less and less grace. How every single second Spent on these lines in vain Is ripped from my life And can never be replaced.