I come up empty
this night and pen,
don't feel I'm worthy
to write again
Throw thoughts on
paper, and in my haste
I come up empty
with journal waste
My night is cold
I miss some love
Away this poem!
(the pen I shove)
TV? A movie?
To quell this ride,
I sit out here
my heart still bleeding
Self-pity disgusts me
I know it's not right,
Pray morning come quickly
Erase this dry night...
~~Fiddler 11/19/2001
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