in a room all alone
i sit on the floor
i make up a rhyme
and a shadow makes it through the door

i held the pen
it slipped from my hand
the ink running down my skin
nowhere to land

i held the pen again
on the paper i write
but it’s still plain
and the morning has taken over the night

i scream and yell
i yell again
the poet inside me is so still
and the words have perished from my brain.