I stare at blank pages,
Waiting to fill the lines.
Imagining perfect sentences,
Fumbling with meaningful rhymes.
I hold an empty canvas,
And watch as the paint dries.
Envisioning a wonderful masterpiece,
Lost in art's demise.
I will never capture the essence,
Words will never define.
The unspoken story that's written,
Lost in the eyes, of that which is not mine.
9:58 p.m. - 2021-12-04
Recent entries:
What is Dead - 2022-05-28
%%older_entries%%30 Days - 2022-03-22
%%older_entries%%To Be Numb - 2022-03-19
%%older_entries%%The Path - 2022-03-13
%%older_entries%%In Your Room - 2022-03-11
%%older_entries%%
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