a last shot into unknown,
dive deep into the soul less ink,
only to impart your own,
perhaps to emerge victorious?

imbue the stale cruelty of the inanimate
with the vivid cruelty of the soul,
bleed unto the mocking desolute canvas,
drawing blood from mindy & body in whole.

a last shot with broken minds,
write words that are not your own
for crazed usbthe hand that the soul hides behind
a battle of thoughts, then all alone.

Was it really anything at all?
These things I write, I can't quite trust them.
Yet I can't trust what I don't write.
It's so easy to get lost
In the _ of  _

I feel like a blank canvas
And everytime I think of something to paint
I second guess it
Till I no longer like it
I feel empty
But everything that could make me feel whole
I shut out
I feel broken
But I can’t fix it
So I’ll just stare into the darkness
Hands over my mouth
Because no one is allowed to hear me cry

I am burnout
Have nothing to talk about
Each minute my mind racing with doubt
But nothing seems to come out of my mouth

Today, I don’t have anything
Not a single idea I could bring
My heart is so numb there’s not even a sting
Maybe it’s better off to be just stopping

I know I don’t have enough talent
But this is the only way I can vent
To help my soul slowly mend,
Writing became my only friend

I wish I had more words to say
But my head is still swimming in gray
I need my mind to fly away
Because maybe then, my body will decide to stay

what's left to say?
nothing's here
what's left to hold?
it feels so wrong

there's no way to talk
it's all gone
my hope is dim
barely hanging on
like a *****'s limb

And then the weather changed;
from a hot, burning yesterday
to a cold, freezing today.
At least it changed,
while here I am, my feelings have estranged.
I couldn’t find happiness for me to play
nor could I find sadness to pray.
None of these have exchanged,
they all went missing.
If you could find my emotions,
I am willing to give you a cent.
This emptiness is overwhelming,
Please go travel the nations.
I want something different.

emerald linen edged with jade
a book titled with my name

and it’s heavy.

i flip through the pages
but they’re blank.

or maybe they’re written
in a way i cannot see

or maybe it was never written at all.

or maybe it’s a reflection,
an empty book, an empty me.

& maybe I’ll write it someday.