There are no words or comics.
No corners or shortcuts to find purpose.
A roadmap to overnight success.
Tongue clicks, but nothing comes out.
They may rant or rave like it’s Christmas Eve,
Or look for answers under the mistletoe,
But the truth is,
It’s a blank document.
Mad Hatter can’t save them with his jokes.
The stage is exhausted with symphonies.
There are no words,
Not even the smallest dot.
They sow in vain, to dig for new words
Bring the tractor,
It seems mundane.
The mind is cultivated with doubts.
She may try to scratch it with her pen.
But the ink is dry.