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.