Blank

 

Is the words you try to fill in,

To cover up vast, empty spaces.

The ghosts in the corner you refuse

To acknowledge because if you do,

They will steal your steel like strength

And break your self declared pride.

It's the days spent hiding far away from pain,

The same places that once held flutters

Of the heart, now subdued into silence.

Do you admit you're not alone, just lonely?

What difference does it make if you speak?

When even the things you say are unheard,

As if you never even said them at all.

Blank is the colour of vaccum, where

Nothing moves and nothing stays.

The in between journey of an honest voice,

Thrown excitedly into a phone handset from one end,

But never made it through to the other.