So many thoughts, so many ideas—
Yet my mind is a void, unfulfilled.
Like a painting waiting to come alive,
A masterpiece left still.

I yearn for beauty, for colors to burst,
To light this shadowed world I see.
But my mind is an expanse of white,
Racing like a storm endlessly.

My senses are dulled, yet I feel it all,
A paradox I cannot define.
I see what could be, what might exist,
Yet I’m stuck within the confines.

I am happy, I am sad,
I am angry, I am still.
I am nothing, I am blank,
A vessel yearning to be filled.

I miss the colors, the golden hues,
Of a sunrise warm and bright.
The deep blue waves of a quiet sea,
Whispering secrets at night.

I long for the red of a blooming rose,
Its petals, soft yet bold.
The tender green of springtime leaves,
Dancing where stories unfold.

I crave lavender skies at twilight’s peak,
A canvas painted by the sun.
The rich brown earth beneath my feet,
Grounding me as dreams come undone.

I want the white of untouched snow,
Pure as it graces the ground.
The playful orange of autumn’s leaves,
In their gentle, whirling sound.

I want it all back, I want to feel,
I want to fight, though I’m so tired.
The canvas waits, silent and patient,
For a moment yet inspired.

I imagine strokes, both delicate and bold,
Each one a whisper, giving life.
The artist’s hand, both steady and wild,
Transforming darkness into light.

And in my stillness, I start to see—
I am the artist of my design.
With every breath, I fill the void,
With colors vibrant, bold, divine.

The final stroke completes the piece,
A vivid story, strong and bright.
The canvas, once empty, now sings with life,
A testament to my fight.