White

I’m scratching, clawing
At my thoughts
This clean canvas,
Tainted, impure
Unacquainted with
The paints of creativity
It rests there, behind these worrisome eyes
Gazing back with silent mockery
Do you hear it?
The dry, dry laughter
Stripping me of words,
Of triumph
Steady heart beating
Quickening with the clock’s whispers
I become engulfed by the blank recess
This wall of voided nothingness
Building inside
The fevered desire to rip,
Wrench from my mind’s golden grail
These brimming emotions, ideas
Confined inside a white prison
I sulk, chewing patience
Waiting for the words to come.