• It feels like nothing,
    nothing at all.
    Like a void in my spirit,
    a black hole in my wall.
    When my defenses come down,
    that nothing remains
    to save me from feeling
    as it swallows the pain.
    I put pen to paper,
    and nothing comes through.
    Blank pages with lines
    and nothing to prove.
    Over and over
    I erase the mistakes,
    leaving nothing to show
    of the words that I take.
    Every word feels like nothing,
    a lie from my soul.
    Nothing important.
    Nothing finished or whole.
    Like something is missing
    in every line,
    because every thought
    feels like nothing inside.
    These reactions are fake;
    every word is preplanned.
    Nothing is real
    that I write with this hand.