Without A Compass

It seems that once again
I am working this pen
For a ghost town
An audience I cannot see
Or is it that they can't see me?
Who am I writing for
What am I trying to convey
How can I become a success
When I have no inkling of what to say?
As well as who to say it to
I keep desiring that momentum
But I don't know what to do
So I keep pushing and praying
Against this 10-ton boulder
On the surface not giving in
But inside desiring a shoulder
Wrists are tied and chafing
Time just goes on wasting
Excuse my disillusioned depression...
As I try to relocate my sense of direction