I am standing in front of a blank canvas,
trying to leave a mark on the emptiness.
I paint with darks, I paint with lights,
I push hard and wild,
and then soft and light.
I forgo sleep, food, and restraint,
but the canvas is still blank.
I split my wrists and empty myself out,
giving every color and ounce of life in me,
and in the end,
I can only watch as the few marks I made drip off the canvas.
I have done nothing.