In vanity, in regret, and in unwanted desire - my veritas.
Proclamations without passion - these thoughts.
this voice, this life that I have come to endure - means nothing.
For my pen is - inkless, passionless and brittle.
and beat - I lack volume and crescendos.
Clouds precipitate bitterless rain.
Canvases produce spiteless rage.
and scenes - mean a thousand less words.
Frustration and sadness - will never collide.
I ruse, I
kid, I joke, I jest - if only I could once more.
You and I - my - words now are wasted on you.
I am certain now - without
any shadow of doubt.
This thumping, beating heart is ready. I am ready - for my truth.
My void truth - I am empty, because I am complete.
A/N: Originally written on 12/26/06.