All I hear,
In my hollowed out shell,
Is the constant drip,
drip,
drip,
Of my creativity eeking out,
The black wet ooze creating life,
Illustrating the page in front of me,
A stain my self loathing can’t erase,
As a little part of me smiles contently,
And with your face as my inspiration,
This room seems just a little brighter.