Truth is, there is nothing poetic about sadness, anger or numbness.

It's your eyes looking at the faceless, and artificial sheen of objects around you. It is the sugar in cold coffee and tea settling at the bottom, as your thoughts flit in and out of your eye-lashes.

Hoping you can still be tied at the very jaggered edges of this universe.

& yet, we write anyway.
For the truth we hide, hide and never seek will be black, navy, blue on those blank pages.