A Poem About Nothing

Your bony fingers slap the worn keys,

Tap,

Tap,

Tap,

Yet the glowing white screen

Remains void of characters of any kind.

Because every time symbols spill

Onto the backdrop of white,

You stop.

Backspace.

Perhaps it's writer's block.

Perhaps you're overthinking.

Again.

Tick.

Tock.

Check the clock.

Start again.

Type the words you've typed

For the last four hours.

The same phrases.

Over.

And over.

And over.

And they mean nothing.

They are empty words,

Meaningless sentences.

Liar,

Liar.

So why don't you type

What you really want to say?

Why don't you tell them

How you really feel?

What would they think

If you handed them a blank page?

What would they say

If you told them you felt nothing?

The End

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