Blank Canvas, Psssh.

When all that lies before you
is the abysmal abyss of bliss
in paper form,
what stirs you to stir it?
Wherefore does your muse hide?
Creativity is a blessing,
creativity is a curse.
If you have too little
or you have too much,
either or, you end up stuck.
Stuck. Trapped. Still.
And so we stir the abyss.
We form the bliss,
we lie before the creation.
The beauty.
Whatever.
**tosses out**

You want to know the truth?
The reality? The non-fiction?
Whenever I throw away I keep,
I'm a literary pack-rat.
Whatever you throw away, I reap
the benefits of.
It's all in good writing, eh?
...
But no, that's not me,
the plagiarized mind can't even be mine.
I'm doomed to the worst fate of
all who've ever put pen to paper.

The real “blank canvas”.