A blank page stares at me like a hungry cat.
Fear clogged passages clamor for words,
Fogged with the dusty noise of my past.
Old dreams hum to me in forgotten lullabies
The relentless dance of thought churns in my head,
Hidden from reality by repetition.
If I could bleed ink I would let it drip.
I would smear it across the page
Until the chatter was drowned.
If my lips were silent,
If my mind were still,
Could I form a word?
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