Chalk Dust Remnants


The drip, drip of the faucet becomes a solid repetition

A constant; steady


There is silence in my mind, a continuous blank

I watch the world go by, him… his new her.

What do I say? What do I think? Nothing.


A dry tablet. Chalk dust still abounds.

No writing. Just remnants of events past.

It is comforting. A constant; steady.


What am I? I am curious.

I want to know everything.

I want to know, who lets us judge others?

Why are we here? What is the point of people?


Is it a trivial concern meant to amuse our empty minds?



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