Darkness cracked by the beam of
my halogen lamp, the glow illuminates
the emptiness within the night.
The blood drips from the prick of
my fingertip, creating the shape of
a distorted rose on the dusty table.
The tip of my tongue stings
from the poignant taste of acrimony;
the depth of tender thoughts muted.
The words I desperately need stay
hidden within the convolution; speechless,
the silence wreaks havoc on my eardrums.
My pen is dry, the ink evaporated
from the inconsistent flow of diction;
these infatuations longing to touch the paper.
There is nothing so, I quietly wait.