I stare at this piece of paper….
Its silence replies,
In such a bland innuendo,
I have nothing to write….
Months have passed through my room,
I have spent so long staring,
At this black piece.
I have such wild thoughts,
Imagination…
& yet my mind refuses to talk.
(Could this mute life,
Continue to break my ascendance down?)
(Could this be the end of me…)
I have written on paper,
Quite like you before.
What makes you so special?
How can this loquacious nothingness
Be my source of demise?
I can’t even express my anger,
Let alone control my hand to throw you away.
My entire self has frozen with confusion,
Years have passed,
I can no longer relent….
If you wish for nothingness,
Then I will reply in silence.
My bland innuendo,
Will be my only defence.
For As I have nothing to write,
We are,
Empty! ! !
~Empath~
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem