Dust and clichés

You said
I was getting
better
and
better,
yet
I am a
living cliché;
the ink in my
veins has
run dry,
paper
turned to
dust
thoughts
crumbled to
ashes.
My cold hand
grips
the pen.
I have
nothing to
say.
Blank again.

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2 thoughts on “Dust and clichés

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