Blank Screen

Blank screen, no longer blank, so I’ll say
Bleak screen
Of black and blue and white and bits of artificial rainbows
But I say this because I am meant to
Not because I truly say it.
Do I ever even say anything at all?
I doubt it.
And how annoying it must be to listen to me,
Talking without really saying a word
Because I think I’m really really really really saying something
But it’s all a plagiarized ball of crap
Reread from the blank screen, bleak screen, stupid screen.
Where has my paper gone?
I miss it. Though I keep it in a pocket of my backpack at all times
Because somewhere I know that typing is a bore
Teasing and typing the words of everybody else.
What’s next?
I’d say another paper from another notebook
But it’s still the same blank screen, bleak screen, stupid screen.
Stupid’s such an ugly word,
It mangles your lips into ugly shapes,
Faces, silly stupid faces,
But of course they’re stupid, they ought to be.
Everything should be what it seems?
Well it all seems absurd.
Like my words.
That are your words that you loan to me before snatching them back.
And I imply that you say anything to begin with
How funny,
You’re silent.
Not talking,
Not speaking,
But still, you’re saying something.
And that’s all that counts…
Isn’t it?