Void Notebook

So I hind my face in my hands No words, No demands I’ve fallen into a pit that’s forever bleak No letters come out from me head to my feet The ink well has dried up and gone cold Will I forever be lost till I’m old? Not even a letter or thought will spill How do I create on paper what I can’t fill? Empty medium lays waiting for its mate I fear emptiness will be my new fate I’m looking for new inspiration in everything I do My pens stuck to the table like glue I ponder my thoughts and wonder to construe What a horrible existence for a poet to go through I’m floating in soup trying to make stew