Dusty Canvas

If I have to put aside my words

Remove them from my mind


What is it that will remain?

Would my mind sit idle and still,

Collecting dust

Layering the surface as thick as my skin?

Or would I simply think upon

All my emotions in another manner?

Like a writer turned artist

Where every one of my inhibitions

Turns to splatters of paint and color

Instead of words?

For my pen has been thrown away

And all that remains is a dusty canvas.


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2 responses to “Dusty Canvas

  1. You are an addict.
    You will buy a new pen.
    It is your destiny.

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