Where were you
When the pitch-black
Words of dark depression
Were inked upon
The lonely placid ghost-white
Sheet of isolation

Where were you
As I tumbled
Through the infinite opening void
Of black that comes
Within the space
'Tween ink and scroll
Through which
True feelings and inspiration
Come hence and form new words
Which scribe
The truth of truth

A truth among all others
That comes
From pure
Emotional
Concentrate

The truth
That bleeds forth
From the cut
Into the void
Made by the ink
Writ by the pen

Though 'tis not
The fault of the pen
For the notions
Bursting forth
From the realm
Of unthought thought
Of unknown truth
Of undreamt dreams

But rather
Of the writer
Such as I
Who turns the
Pen
Within the
Ink
As would a
Key
Turn in a
Lock
Releasing but this single
Notion
The one that put the pen to
Motion
This one lucid,
Screaming thought

You're gone