Dead

Somethings missing in me... I thought it was my words, but it was something else.

I feel poetically dead,

Empty empathetic words,

tip toe trips of sanity inside of my head.

No cards to play

No ace of spades

Vast voids of space erases creativity,

Invisible imagery.

My paint brush drips shades of gray

As I think

As I lay 

The colorful incantation of words

That once played hop scotch across my mind

As i flowed while I wrote-

Lost the words to the chalk from my heart.

I dread the next line

I cringe at the amount of time it takes me to..

Lyrically express recessive thoughts,

That mean nothing to no one else but me.

Unnecessary words trickle ink blots onto my parchment paper-

  In the attempt at getting better.

Imaginative thoughts of therapy..

Its scary-

Because for the better lack of trying-

  I'm still crying.

My hand attempts to flow with a free verse,

But I am constantly searching for words in my poetically dead head.

I cant open up to the sight of me speaking freely.

Shy'd off in the corner,

I write thoughts as people pass by my head,

Unable to reach a connection with them..

   And my pen... and my pad.

Telling stories of my life like Ive lived them in someone elses shoes,

I try to walk in my size... times two.

Unwilling to take the hand of a member of life,

Because I fear they might feel the strife of my life

Pump negative energy into the palms of their hands.

I'm not lyrically...

But emotionally dead.