black and white | poetry

| pillow |

I search my brain for inspiration,
Chastising my mind, my useless imagination.

I think of death, I think of life,
I ponder on peace, I wonder about strife.

None, however, pique my interest.
It's getting late now, I should probably get some rest.

But nothing will put my mind at bay,
Until I think of an idea, something to say.

I'm frustrated with myself, why can't I think?
Tears begin to form, my resolve begins to shrink.

I sigh quietly, as I lay in my bed.
Nothing is more destructive then your own head.