Saturday, February 6, 2021

Questions

every day now, I kind of die just a little
as I constantly feel you drift further away from me
visions of my once painted future gets bleaker
my youthful spirit burnt out, replaced with ennui
my inkwell of poetry about you almost dry
and my soulful quill of emotions now stiff
as I am left now with a roomful of parchment
all the time in my hands but my thoughts all adrift
how did I get here in this depressing state?
where did all my passion for life go?
am I left with just a shell of my past self
the day I asked you, and you replied, "I don't know"

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