Unwritten
My notebook is next to me as always.
Bent and covered in drool.
I did speak to myself but it was nothing but rambling and scrambling.
My notebook is here with lines on the pages but the lines are wavering.
I can’t write in the lines like they taught us in school.
The pen is somewhere on this bed.
Or maybe it scurried into a crevice.
I have nothing to write with.
I have nothing, but thoughts.
I have no pen.
So I have no choice but to shiver in bed.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
