White Spaces

They stain my grey matter The ambiguous areas of my indecision My personality on a white page A blanket of emptiness over me A coat of nothingness, but whiteness I wear it with reluctance And it shows because I’m blackness Void of light until an idea like black ink over my innocence What's black, but emptiness, The potential to manifest into anything The unconscious becoming conscientised Capable of assimilating any colour and any shape My silhouette These wide empty spaces that challenge every fibre of my being What the answer to life’s conundrum is? Depends on how hard I’m willing to scratch my cranium I scream at the pen to spoil the spotlessness To record something in the memory of time To speak meaningfulness to the unspoken But mostly its rhetoric, because I’ve already guessed the answer Guessed where the dominant hand wants to direct my mind So I write until there are no blank spaces left, not even in me Nightly, I dream of the infinite combinations I could master To give it meaning I write volumes and still I’m not loud enough