Empty

I think I've written all there is to write;
there's nothing left inside me.
I am now as empty as can be,
there is nothing left to come to light.

Emptiness is the symptom of what's wrong
All the meaning departed.
The deadly rot inside has started
and nowhere do I think I belong.

There seems to be nothing left to be said
because I feel so little.
My emotional life seems brittle.
The truth is that I may as well be dead.

I'm wondering if this also shall pass
and all the inspiration come back
or if it if gone and has gone black.
I hope it is the former not the last.

©2012  C. Boeneman