Writer's Block and Writing

 The sold recognition
and an unrecognized word, something of desire and pain.
I could write it down but it is absurd with no one to read in vain.
I am too busy with myself to notice there is nothing left.
The hours pass and so do the people,
and I bring an old memory to every new conversation.
It is pointless, these blogs are never read.
This is just a mirror, and your reflection was better.
Can I have that one instead?
To make this point broken, I break and am pretending
with dawn to rise

***I don't know what the hell that was, but i'm keeping some of it. it hurt too.