• Why is it that a blank page, as empty as it is, seems to say everything and yet nothing at the same time? It’s as if it knows nothing, yet everything that you don’t. It’s as if it’s mocking you, taunting, teasing and pleading with you to do anything and everything to it. Like a whore who looks innocent, but really she pleads guilty all the time.

    She knows I can’t resist her. She’s too appealing to my eyes. I want to write, paint, draw and splatter her all over, showing her how I feel as I taint her purity. Another part of me wants to rip, tear, crumple and tatter her in my frustration and anger. She makes me love her and hate her so.

    Jealousy engulfs me when I see someone else use her better than myself. It’s as if she silently stares back and laughs at me. She knows that they can do better, damn whore that she is.

    I can’t get her out of my mind. Even now she surrounds me. I can’t escape her. She tempts me like a whore on a corner. Calling me, reminding me of how much I want her. I am just one artist tempted and entrapped by a whore called, paper.