Nothing at all

The pen trembled
in my hand, he feared
his own tongue
but I told him that
I'm the one who
decides, what will
and won't be written.

I could start
describing the state
of my heart, how its
weary and bruised,
worn from all the beating

not to mention that
my soul is ashamed
of its own cowardice,
that its been hiding away
from people, it fears touch
it fears light, it fears life.

(why am I still here?)

my days are crude,
my nights are dull
like uncultured men

all the fortune
and all the reasons I
was ever loved
are thrown
in dusty cabinets of a
classroom

and I'm nothing,
nothing at all without them.