Anatomy of the Blank Brain

RienBarker

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?

  • Author: RienBarker (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 13th, 2016 17:57
  • Comment from author about the poem: I was at a time when I literally couldn't think straight, and I realized that no one else felt that way. I guess I was just spouting word-vomit.
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 29
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Comments +

Comments1

  • OxfordSkills

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



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