Blank canvas, stares at me powder white,

And I grip my pen so tight,

So tight the ink cannot flow.

Blank canvas, like winter’s snow,

Yet, so deep I do not know,

How to battle against you.

Blank canvas, why do you torment me?

Ridicule and laugh, for I wish I was at sea,

Where inspiration lies.

Blank canvas, as blank as my life,

Which allows me not to write

A heart so heavy.

Blank canvas, on which painters can paint,

Or musicians can with black notes taint,

But not me.

Blank canvas, you will remain an ashen face,

For I am filled with such disgrace,

As you anger me still.