Blank pages filled with the darkness
of jet-black ink.
Words are pictures
that express the way we are feeling,
without showing an expression
from a complex face.

My ego has been damaged
by the simple presses
of piano keys by sylph-like fingers
that once traced the insides of my judgement.
Images of dejection flip through my mind
like a scrapbook of self pity,
only I’m the focus of the photograph.
The images are slowly deteriorating,
and dissolving,
and my brain is numbing
from the sensation of forgetting.
The pixels have created a new picture
of hope.