Blocked

Out of ideas

I’m a blank slate.

Not completely clean,

But rather just erased.

Seriously? Nothing?

It ended so fast

I guess new ideas

Are a thing of the past.

Emptiness follows,

Where sad men walk

And I’ll stare blankly

Unable to talk.

I’m my biggest critic

And that’s probably why

I’m so quiet now

And so afraid to try.

Eyes that pierce flesh

Like nobody knows

And I’m left wondering

Where did it go?

I can’t make perfection

There’s little use trying

Left out, with self doubt

I wish I were lying

The glass is half full

But the drink has gone bad

I wish I could miss

What I wish I had

Standing in the fog

I try, with pen, to devise

But the real rain I write

Has yet to wet your eyes

Out of ideas

Seriously. Nothing.

Emptiness follows

When waiting for that something…