That empty chair.
That empty chair.. Waits there, staring back at me.
Tap-tap-tapping at my mind’s door.
With a pen, demanding an encore, to chisel out my bleeding hopes and teary dreams into lyrical lines of sculptured sanctuary. Serving to sweep up the rubbled pieces of inspiration within me. Gluing them back together to form some sort of clarity.
Maybe it just serves as a gallery, for others to peak into my despair.
I’m well aware..
Of its motivations, along with the implications.
Staring straight back at that empty chair.