The keyboard calls,
I don’t reply.

I can’t imagine
A reason why
My broken soul
Should not respond
To my outlet’s
Open arms.

But here I sit,
Staring blind
At empty pages,
Full of the lie
That in my silence
I can hide
My neurotic need
To be alright.

Distracted by truth,
Haunted by life,
I cannot forget
That mine
Is fine.

Just ignore 
What's buried inside.

But still, the page
Sits barren and dry.

But still, maybe
That's less of a lie
Than it would be
If full of words.

Deep inside
I want to be clear,
It's me, quietly
Screaming here.

I'll write.

I will.

I promise to try.

But still,
I won't really be
Alright.