Some days I feel as though
I have written every word
that I was destined to write.
in every size,
in every order,
in every blink of an eye...
a universe dies,
a tear is shed.
my purpose has departed,
and a pen lies silent.
I inhale life, yet
nothing exits,
leaving only blank pages.
this is a dream without color,
without soul...
this is how it feels to be empty.
