The ideas
Blossom unexpectedly, during late-night thunderstorms,
Sunny and warm afternoons, and
Evening sunsets.

They consume my mind,
Shouting and screaming until they
Capture my attention. Addicted to
The spotlight, they lure me in,
A trap covered with the facade of
Success.

I walk towards them,
Eager for something, anything to
Fill the vast, empty hole clouding and
Engrossing my mind.

I reach out, grasping the
Promise, eager to
Write, to finally create.
Gray lines quickly and sloppily
Appear onto the expectant
Paper before the Ideas
Start to
Fade, dissolving slowly in front of
My eyes, taunting the empty hole
And denying it any sort of blueprint
For constructing a ladder upwards.

Its remnants scurry away, leaving behind
A false hope,
A false promise,
And an incomplete paper
Wishing it could be fulfilled
If it weren’t for
The never ending block
That embraces an Idea only for it to
Be pushed away, never fully created
But always fully misunderstood.

An incomplete paper,
Wishing it could be finalized
Instead of being left with its lonely
Blue lines
Ruling the page like a king
But
Lacking
Any sort of
Power.