Desuetude of the Heart

I am a blank page
Full of empty words
And vacant dreams
Let-down thoughts
And broken promises
I stop before I start
And think so much I burst
Leaving me with nothing again
I am a state of imperfection
In my perfect, unused condition
I have a clean slate
But I have the potential for disaster
I am unscratched
Untainted
Snowed white to cold holiness
And I shine with shallow allure
I am almost and maybe
A hint of something more
And the thirst for coloration
In this deafening existence
Of white noise
And pure despair
Stain me
Paint me
Fill me until my corners fade away
And the colours overlap grotesquely
And I become the horrifying image
Of a being swept by catastrophic emotion
But by God
Do not leave me unmarked
As a lifeless, nameless tragedy
Left to wallow in my plain perfection
And bare limitations
Illustrate me to insanity
And dye my expressionless front
With all the reckless awful feelings
That I’ve kept inside all this time
Just beyond my pale, pristine exterior
Let the faults of life find me
Let me bare my blemishes proudly
And let me live






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