RienBarker

Anatomy of the Blank Brain

My pen\'s got ink, 

no room to think 

there\'s nothing in my brain, 

I think I\'m going insane.

As I wash the ink stain,

out of my brain, 

so I have room to think. 

Blank slate, 

empty plate, 

sidewalk grate,

sunshine that I hate.

Gray slab, 

child hands that grab, 

food smell, 

empty shell, 

sound of a bell, 

reminds me that I\'m late. 

But I don\'t care 

about brushing unruly hair, 

so I lay 

in bed all day

so maybe I can think. 

What am I left with?

What am I? 

What?