Voids

A pen in my hand, a paper in front,
My mind lost and wandering in voids
Voids in which agony dances with pleasure
Voids in which the pain laughs and the soul screams
These voids are haunted by the bygones
Whose scary laughters are like thunderstorms.

In there,
Some words are floating,
Entangled with thoughts,
Desperate to come out of this haunted house
Like a wound that wants to bleed
Like a chained devil who wants to freed
Like a wet eye that wants to drop
Some waters that wont ever stop

But as I put pen to the paper
They refuse this embrace
Refuse to complete the circuit
Refuse to give way for the fluids to flow

So nothing comes out on the paper
Other than some blots of blue.

I press the pen in agony and a thought passes by,

What are we writers
If not mountains of words?
What are we writers
If not "utterly absurds"!

Reviews

[Suhd]

I can relate with this poem. It's the most frustrating feeling among others. You have explained it with such honesty. The similes which you used are relatively new and pregnant with so much meaning. Great job !

[Voice]

Thank you so much for the appreciation...yes, a writer can very much relate to this :) :)