I have nothing to say, no feelings to convey,
no mediocre thoughts to lay down on paper.
My mind is vapour, tiny particles in the air,
spread around carelessly, leaving my head bare,
like an echo, let go on to infinity,
an empty drums serenity.
I grind to halt, leaving skid marks in the asphalt,
as sparks tear into the atmosphere,
and find my mind still there, at ease,
ideas scattered by the breeze
are battered into existence with bitter resistance,
for words litter my head, but sentences refuse to form,
instead they choose to lay dormant,
so I need a storm to awake inspiration.
I need a new take on this situation,
this angle is a circumcision of vision,
and I need to break my limitations,
and accept no imitations.
I accept no imitations.