A blank page. No emotions, no joy
no gleam of hope, no desperate prayers, 
no devastation, just frustration...
nothing ever fills my mind.
No dreams, no insomnia,
just plain old sleep 
to bide my time.
Surrealty, but no wonder,
no spark in my eyes
no words to speak
no love to share
no care to spare to a next of kin.
Emptiness the only thing
within me, around me, ahead of me, it is me.
All character, all life
has seeped away, 
I cannot act, I feel no pulse, 
my muscles have turned numb.
I lie awake, a blank ceiling 
is all I see, everywhere...
No drive, no motivation.
No inspiration, nothing new,
not even something old,
to spark a train
of comforting nostalgia.
My heart feels cold, my eyes, they bore
I watch people move
like lifeless souls..
all parallel lines, no tangents daring,
no haywire lives, no curves of learning.
The only change I sense,
gradual as it may be,
is my empty life turning
into a flatline.
And my being, another blank page
loose on the floor
no breeze to lift it
nothing to transcend it.