by Kendall T., 13
Paper thin, the pages flip.
So many lines yet no words. No thoughts. Nothing.
They curl as you constantly, continuously turn them.
The small glowing light beside you stays yellow. Still.
Begging you to think of something. But your head is hollow. Vacant.
It shines on the nonstop, never-ending blue strings.
Yet no instruments. No music. Nothing.
One red line marking the margin. The wall.
Behind the wall, there are thoughts. Too many.
But on your side there are none.
Rock scrapes against the blizzard.
Like snow hitting the ground for the first time.
It spells out the word nothing.
The rest is just that lonely polar bear in a snowstorm.
Little Silver, New Jersey
Bridge Ink 