These days I find myself without anything to say,
I hold my pen in my hands but I feel nothing,
My brushes are stiff and dry,
No colours, no lights, no words
I’m a shadow
No, a shadow at least has some dimension
I am……. oh I don’t know what I am
But I just see
See things
No feelings, no ties
I float around, a tiny bit of everyone’s existence
A part of every story
But mine.
I have begun to dream nightmares
Of numbers and symbols where colour and music used to be
No streams, no fire
Just rock, metal and those bloody numbers.
I’m not sure what it is..
It makes me tired
And afraid
Very afraid
Like there’s a leak I can’t find
And my soul, my essence, my pressure
Seeps out slowly
I die slowly
A little each day
Until everything fades and only the numbers remain.
So I take my quill and brushes
I need to find that leak
And try to plug it
My existence depends on it
I refuse to be a shade
Always passing through never affecting
I drug myself with light and color
And constant music
Perhaps I will be healed
And the plug fixed



  1. “a part of every story but mine… i drug myself with light and colour… drip, drip, drip…”…. I know this feeling. I never thought of it as a leak before. I really like this poem. Where have you been all my… stopping now…

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