Don't tempt me.

These blank pages mark me,
Invisible fingers point.

Silent laughs from the lines,
screaming in my face.

My pen is losing,
So much paper; not enough ink.

Maybe if I bleed,
Spill my essence to fill.

Should they then stop,
Should they be burned?

The thought of running out,
A lack there-of.

It sickens me,
Makes my stomach churn.

Go away and never return,
Banish yourself to nowhere.

Or I WILL become your worst nightmare!