I stare at the whiteness of paper
waiting for my poison to drip out of my pen
Am I depressed more than usual
Or am I so used to the idea that I can't differentiate?
My eyes wander across the emptiness of page
Reading into unsaid words
Dreaming of unreal dreams
My indifferent hand smooths the wrinkled edge of paper
gesture to smooth en my thoughts
still waiting for the ink to yell at me
A silent tear rolls off
making a small puddle of thoughts
blemishing the lines
I embrace my brimming unquiet ocean
Soaked in my sadness and waiting for me to share a word
The mark left on paper says a story that will go unheard.
YOU ARE READING
Sad Poems 2
PoetryI wasn't intending another Sad poems book but I find it hard to not feel the stories. I necessarily don't feel like that.
