Everyone knows it, that blank page, laid bare on the ground,
The Ghost of Words, it constantly follows me around.
That blank page, whenever you come to write, is waiting,
It always seems happy to be filled, and yet continues resisting.
That blank page, I see it everywhere, a bare wall, an empty frame,
It's waiting for me to fill it, it hounds me, and it puts me to shame.
There is a constant fear, that one day I will not have the words to fill it,
I'm not scared of much, but the Ghost of Words has deemed me unfit.
One day, I will no longer be able to satisfy this Ghost's hunger,
Will it finally stop hounding me then though, I wonder?
This Ghost of Words, breathing down my neck with my every step,
It awaits to be filled, hounding me and making me savour each breath.