Thoughts whisper,
Through his mind.
The air feels strange.
The room so quiet,
And so he stares.
Hacks around ideas,
He doesn’t like.
Pages on the floor,
Only fit for fire.
Takes another look.
Is there any pattern here?
Gets up from the sofa.
Wades through reams of paper.
Sees himself in the mirror.
Gaunt, haggard, thin,
Not slept in days.
A ghost looks back at him,
So he turns away.
Try’s to write again.
