Empty, Empty, Empty
I scratch my head to think of words,
But only pain and wounds are felt, not sentences and words.
I need to think of words, phrases, sentences, and expressions to write,
To complete this hobby of mine.
I was once friends with paper and pen.
Not until they vanished like wind in the air.
I was once lost in thought of creativity and art.
Not until they were rejected and changed it too much,
Leaving it a piece I never created flooded in ink I never spilled.
I look at the piece of paper in front of me,
White, blank, and crumpled.
I look at my hand filled with ink,
Black, messy, and shaking.
I tried to write what I think and plan to share it with the world.
Share a fantastic fantasy I never experienced in the real world.
I wanted to inspire others through literacies and words.
Only to wake up one day and lose interest in creating words.
What happened to the time I was lost in thought with enthusiasts to write it down.
What happened to those empty papers filled with ink and colors.
What happened to those characters that were more alive than others.
What happened to my imagination.
What happened was now empty.
Empty bottle of ink.
Empty paper.
Empty thoughts.
Empty imaginations.
Empty words.
Just empty energy to write and share more.
"Can someone, somebody help me find it all,
Fill those empty things with the new one,
Begin again like new chapters.
Can someone help me write again?
Help me find those losses."
