pages turn
blanket unused
unspoiled
no scratches
or creases
empty
I cannot mirror
my mind
in the bleached fibers
no colour or ink
that blooms under my finger tips
within the stretched skin
covering my heart
although I try
I stare at the blank wall
wondering why
the words stop
at the glass
no not why
I know the answer
but why will they not move past
the chrystaline membrane
to breathe fresh air
pen picked up, put down
another torn page
blank screen
tick tack
then nothing
like a heart beating
breath held
and waiting
~
day 1
NaPoWriMo
30 days of poetry
theme: Two of Cups
