Pen to paper

I feel like I should write
Pen to paper I pause
Waiting for a stream of emotion, flowing in articulate springs,
skipping over pebbles of metaphor and alliteration,
humming along to the tune of truth
but

nothing.

I shake my pen, assuming default, and bend forward again.
I wait for the surge of light to burst forth
sparkling in its pain and intensity
blinding in its raw and honest nature
shining a path for poets to come
but

nothing.

I pull another sheet of paper, thinking a new texture would accommodate.
Hovering over the clean palette
I hold my breath in anticipation for a kaleidoscope
A vortex of color dancing the merengue
To the beat, beat, beat of a broken heart
Tripping over one another in the faltering rhythm,
The result a medley of confusion
but

nothing.

I call on the power of gods that may or may not exist
praying that they might remove the burgeoning mass of madness
protruding from my common sense
A cancer of logic feeding on hope and a Lockean perspective
I put my face to the paper- maybe by osmosis?-
but

nothing.

One tear trickles down my cheek
The first to bear witness to this trainwreck
It's salty essence tracing a path down my face
Almost as twisted as the one that brought me here
And it hits the paper

The saddest part of all is that tear
that single solitary tear
writes the novel of us
It is succinct with the depth I wished you had to begin with.
And it's, I'm, done.