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I’m tired of waiting in this hollow state, pushing aside things I want to say. It’s taking my all to get out of bed. I’m pouring a drink to feel myself dead. The page is blank my pen is down; I’m working it out. It’s been a while I’ve had something to say but my page is blank, my pen is down, I’m working it out. There’s this feeling inside that’s coming out, my page is blank my pen is down, I’m working it out. Put the pen to the paper, but it wouldn’t move. My page is blank, my pen is down, and I’m working it out.