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? 



  • OxfordSkills

    Absolutely brilliant!
    I loved it!
    That's how I feel right this minute.. spot on! :)

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