up late

I get thoughtful and ponder the meaning of life for at least 2 weeks after a frustrating break up. Here's a poem I came across that, although cheesy, explains exactly how I feel at 1:22 am. I'll get back to trying to be witty later.

Untitled, by Filiberto Jones

Empty spaces on a page
Readied pen waits to engage
The language clear the meter set
But ink and paper haven’t met

Yellowed, stiff, and turning stale
Its purpose to relate a tale
Good or Bad
Afflicted, healed
Its perfect, blank, and unfulfilled

The gouging point leaves words cut in
Like scarring wounds across the skin
For all to read
For it to feel
Potential dies or becomes real

Eternal verse on mortal page
Faded ink is now the gauge
Of victories won
And of defeat
Ink and paper have to meet.