What to scribble when there’s nothing left to say?
only scattered pointers, lines and colon breaks,
happy words I used before are turning meaningless
and the page is blank each time I do confess…

there is this growing fear engulfed in nothingness
wished I had a burning heart like the furnace in the sun
or a heart of clay to mold the passion through my days,
but I’m built from aching flesh and longings in a dream…

climbing on a ladder leading to no end
I must’ve lost the way for looking back I saw no other
only darkness dressing up the feelings I’ve held in
and I asked myself “Oh father where do I begin?“