The running out of blank space

in my notebook,

leads to the running into blank space

in my head it took.

 

What should be written,

is done,

and what shouldn’t,

remains locked away in my thoughts that tend to run.

 

And there’s a certain lost feeling,

one gets when they have no more poems to write.

 

It’s not that I can’t see the beauty

in you anymore,

or the verses the universe

inks upon the skin of the earth.

 

It’s that the depths of my mind,

have been clouded over by deceit.

Making it’s waters a little less lovely,

and a little less deep.