The Creative Eye

Trying to turn this whiteness into colour
The ideas don’t come the blankness just stares at me
Laughing at my frail attempts to cover it up
My brush skims the surface time and time again
The marks do not make any sense
They confuse and annoy me
There is only one way out of this stalemate
I grab the whiteness with both hands
I rip, tear, throw, punch and kick until the whiteness is no-more
Then I retake my seat and look down
The darkness just stares back at me and laughs

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