I stare now at a blank space

Where my life used to be

As though the inkwell has run dry

The end has come to here

A weariness

Life is written all before

Pages torn out

By an invisible hand

Too tired to repeat

Too tired to continue

Sheets all blowing in the wind

Scatter on the wet pavement

I dare not retrieve it

Lest I be found at fault

I did not write this life

I did not leave it