33

I'm out of things to write about
I'm out of words without a doubt
I've put all of my thoughts to bed
There are no dreams inside my head.
There's nothing left, I'm emptied out
No more ideas to use as grout
To fill blank spaces in my mind
There's nothing that's been left behind.
I'm flies and holes, strands of string
I've no tune to hum or sing
Can't bring a single thought to bear
Can't bring myself to think I care.
I'm out of words with which to rhyme
All that I have left is time
And time is all that I don't want
A ghost without a place to haunt.