Open the cover from there a brand new start,
The table of contents nothing but a blank chart.
Your mind racing wondering "what type of book is this",
Was there somthing wrong? What did you miss?
What happened to my book? This must be a joke,
I want to read my book I want to end this hoax.
What kind of story would of been this?
Is this book just empty like my head, a shadowy abyss?
My empty head starts filling more and more,
And new creations of stories form all and for sure.
I wonder if it would be a mystery or maybe even sad,
Thinking about this more and more made me less mad.
Realizing why this book would never have a start,
It's blank cause of me, I'm a writer at heart.
I don't need words to fill me head with creations,
Realizing my own wrong doing is my salvation.
This book is perfect and therefore needs no changes,
I'll cherish this one book, the book with Blank Pages.