when i knock on it, my head sounds hollow.
nothing good has been made in there for days,
my brain might have shriveled up
in its static, echoey cavity.
when i stare at a blank page, only the cursor blinks.
i move from blank page to blank ceiling stares,
hoping that after i sleep somehow
answers will find me.
when morning wakes me, my eyes are grumpy.
it doesn’t take long for my fingers to find feeling,
the mind wakes up more slowly
stalling longer every day.
when will i hit a standstill? when will i finally be trapped
inside the page?
no blinking. no blanking.
no stalling, just stalled, stonewalled, stuck
in the muck of my mind
splattered on the page.
but there’s nothing on the page,
maybe i should splatter
the muck of my mind onto it.
smudge it and smear it until it makes a picture
or a poem
just something to awaken the dusty crannies
that used to whisper words to me, before they caved
and left my cranium bare
pssst, are you in there, oh words?