I stare at the page and chuckle.

A poet with nothing to write.

A soul tired of it's own song

It doesn't help anyone

It doesn't have a meaning.

It's worthless.

It's a cry in the dark.

So a heartbroken poet by the sea of darkness his soul is drenched in, that's what I'll write about.

A river of tears flowing down the side of my bed, that's what he'll write about.

The fire burning the insides of a smoker, that's what we'll write about.

A poem without rhyme

A human without a will to live

An artist without an inspiration

So let's dance for the last time and then I'll disappear

One last art of words

One last dance of words

One last hope of salvation

One last kiss

One last love