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.