poet without ink

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Poet without ink

My throat is sore,
Filled with panic.
I am not able to speak.

My eyes are closed.
Different shades of black,
because I can't notice
any kind of colors anymore.
I am not able to see.

Words are crashing my inner ears.
The world is screaming at me,
Too loud to understand.
I am not able to hear.

My hands are bounded,
into the cages that were built
out of pain.

I am lost.
Left with nothing,
but a piece of paper.

But what is a poet without ink?

Nothing.
I am nothing.

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