Nice notebooks and empty pages,
These I've had no shortage of
Now or yesterday
Or really at any stage.
Just been waiting for the right thoughts.
Always told myself,
Not right.
Not enough.
My voices cancelling out each other.
Leaving only silences.
The vacuum of these silences I rushed to fill.
Not with more thoughts, better thoughts,
But with other noises.
Blocked my ears,
Plugged in a feed,
Of facts, opinions, interesting, boring, trivial, important,
All one and the same.
A never ending feed,
But not food for thought.
Not really, not always.
A vicious cycle slowly turning into a spiral,
Sending me into the abyss where thoughts are put to rest.
Rock bottom of my mind.
I told myself I was learning,
Something, anything,
But I was grasping in the air.
Gasping for air,
When I managed to come back up to the surface,
As debris of half remembered titbits float by my side.
A moment of reprieve, brief,
Before being pulled back under.
Sisyphus' struggle today would probably not be the rock that rolls,
But the eternal swim against the grip of the scroll.
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