A is for Ants

Blank canvas.
Page waiting to be filled.
Grey sky.
Mug of coffee.
Biscuits.
Another coffee.
Oreos.
Page still blank.

To be filled with what?
To be filled why?

Blank canvas
Blank page
Potential.
The potential for greatness
To be the next Davinci.
The next
Shakespeare.


Words fill the page
Little black dots
a trail of ants crawling across the screen
twisting their tiny bodies
into tiny letters
attaching themselves together


Until
my train of thoughts
has been bared
for
     all
         the
              world

A scribbled canvas
A page of text
A page no longer blank
Not the next Shakespeare
only the first Me

I think I'll go back
Restore the potential
and
Delete.