Day is old

                
                             to the sunken
strength

       of the circle's gold




                                  in Yonder twain.

This flashing prompt
Is mocking me
The villain
In my dreams
Waking me from
A restless sleep
Making me wonder
What beauty lies ahead
Or if this day
Is just a nightmare to be had

Teasing me
Tempting me
Out of my writers block
So much so
That I have to
Write about it

The little black line
Is toying with me
Making me
Type
Edit
Delete
Like a cycle
Spinning my mind
Washing my pages
Until the words
Are nothing but memory

Or committed to memory
Depending on how many times
I’ve typed them
Trying to get past this idea
And turn it into
Something of substance
This flashing prompt
Has chained me to the screen

I scratch the idea
And start again

This vertical line
Is taunting me
Asking me what
I have Left to say
Reminding me that
I’ve said it all before
Just in a different way
Assuring me
That the world will tire
Of hearing my story
And I can only
Type so much
In a day
Week
Month
Year

This Caret
Has crushed me
Like a soldier waging war
Before I can even get a word in
Winning the battle
Unable to reach my weapon
Attempting to defend my thought process
Staring deeply I remember
That I am hopeless

This flashing prompt owns me
Keeping me up until
All hours of the night
Beating me to the punch
Whenever something feels right
Placing seeds of doubt in my mind
Making me aware
that the well
Has run dry

Painting
            every
                     nook
                        every
                     hue
                of a
         water
drop.
Once done all in all
there was still a sea
     in the whole!

Sometimes our lives are made up of the same stories with the same beginnings and the same endings and things happen the same way almost every time.

I’ll see you in the future.

I’m going to say, “I miss you.”

You’ll tell me words are hollow. “If you really miss me, show me.”
You’ll say, “I have two kids now. Doesn’t that bother you?”

I’ll admit, “I know. It’s okay.”

You’ll be entirely made up of mechanical gears and electrical circuits, with light emanating through the cracks in your skin.
I shouldn’t mind. It will be me who makes you this way, after all.

As we push further into the future, you’ll be less impressed with every hour that goes by. That’s how she was. So that’s how you’ll be.
Maybe I’ll be sad to see it, but I’ll be happy knowing that even if my perfectly imperfect creation decides to leave, like she did, you won’t get so far before you’re completely drained.

And only I will hold the key to restart your heart.

Just as she has held the key to mine, all this time.