Tonight I have nothing. The void inside me has eaten all that remained of my creative spirit and has given ghosts in return. I am spent, my mind awash with the contained thoughts of that which I can not hold; can not touch.
An ache fills me as I sit and think that in spite of the puppet-show that I put on, I have nothing awaiting my return. No arms to take me in or welcome me home.
All in all, it is just another day in the life. A life which is mine to own and no others.
A life of regrets, scars and hard lessons; a life of endless voids.
Is there nothing more for me than these words?
The void grows and I am nothing but its shadow.