Pen to paper, no inspiration
trapped in an open room
failed by his own education
questions, how else can you write doom?
A frustrated look on his face
poetry is so fucking dumb
can someone please come take his place
how can you write when you feel numb?
He leans away, tired of blinding white
no ink on the page, god damn it
looks out the window, it's a silent night
and the book hits the floor, slamming.
He checks his computer, extremely irate
a message from Baeve stirs his screen
"ay Imouto, why's it so hard to create?"
he smiles and IM's the teen.
"I don't know, man," he types fiercely
"I've been having trouble for hours"
"finding meaning is a scarcity"
"I really just don't have the power."
With a 'ping!', a heartfelt message replies
"You can do it! I know you can!"
"Unlike me, you're really wise"
"just write how you feel, without a plan."
Imouto closed his eyes, began to lie back
how nice it feels to have someone there
his mind wandered, jumped off track
so warm and inviting, with more love to spare.
Picking up the book, our hero smiled
how could he have missed her?
his love, his favorite, his first thought, his child
Cara, his little sister