I thought to write something

Since it has been so long

So much water has flown



Things used to be different

As they have always been

And now I stare at the ceiling

Tap my pencil against my head


Because this page is half empty

And emptiness must be filled

My ceiling is white

And so are the walls...


It used to be different

It has always been so

This page is not empty

But remains being white.