The paper sits empty,
Inkpot, untouched.
My pen hovers, motionless.
My soul weeps,
My heart whimpers,
My mind reels.
My hand,
Remains,
Statuesque.
A hard drink sits
In my left hand.
Half gone, unsavoured.
Burning,
Gently caressing.
And finally I see,
The beautiful expression,
Of nothing.