A Blank Page

A fresh sheet of paper.
Begging to be writ upon.
No thoughts come to mind,
no ideas to explore.
What should I write about?
I drum my fingers against
the page.
An empty page, waiting.
Should I write about love?
Sadness?
Emptiness?
Being alone?
Maybe I should stop writing.
Perhaps I am a fake, a farce.
What am I to believe anyway?
People talk without meaning,
love without heart.
I need to write something,
anything to fill this blank page.
Something else to fill my head.
Time is running out.
Nothing? Nothing at all?
Shit.
I'll try to write later.