I stare at the lines and they stare back at me
Both of us blank–so opaque and empty
It seems to me I should have something to say
But the words don’t form
Trapped in my head–such a cognitive mess
So many things not worth saying, I guess
It seems to me I can’t be silent again
But the words don’t form
Almost inspired but not quite enough
I tell myself ‘write about heartache or love’
All of these feelings should move me to speak
But the words don’t form
Maybe it’s apathy building inside
Maybe it’s fear of the things I might write
Maybe I’m just feeling distant tonight
But the words don’t form
Sometimes to write is like capturing air
Translating hearts into things we can share
Surely I should have a sentence or two
But the words don’t form
Here I remain without passion or drive
Fumbling for some way to prove I’m alive
Wishing that I could express something right
But the words don’t form