Emptying something into nothing, some written rage on some blank page.
Thoughts flowing through blue INK.

Not directly, but indirectly.
About the something, disquised as nothing.
All coming out in a too round-about kind of way.
Seeming as though there's nothing to say.

This is what I have to GIVE,
Through the words there's more to read, more to see,
Words of relief can be found in-between.

No, this is not my heart, this is merely saturated looseleaf,
My heart is lying there, in-between.