I gaze down,

Without a sound,

"Dear Diary"

My gaze drifts hazily,

Lazily over empty page.

"What do you thinkā€¦

Of your ruled lines,

Empty pages, potential finds

Between the confines of your cover

What secrets hide within the binds,

What interests you within your lines?

Would you wish to remain forever blank?

Or do you long for secrets so sublime?

What do you think of self pitying me?

Perhaps from my grasp

You long to be free,"

I scribble in bloodied ink,

Teeter on sanity's brink

"Dear diary,

What do you think?

What do you see?

Do you recognise

The potential in me?

Or do you weary,

Grow tired and cold,

Sprinkle your covers

With dust; become old

Do you ignore?

Or do you advise?

Do you read what I write

And sympathise?"

Words patter from my ponderous mind

They rarely, if ever, stop their monotone grind

Consuming; Overwhelming,

Pasted darkly, forever condemning.

"Dear Diary,

What is it you see?

Why is it you stare back at me grimly,

Reflect shattered illusions ever more dimly?

My words line your spaces,

Marking a multitude of places

Within the depth of my life

Grief and strife,

Joy and pain,

All of which I shan't visit again.

Are you aware of what you see?

Inner feelings,

Dreams; Inspirations; Motivations; Even Cessations:

You are the true mirror of my eye."