The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.

its not a good sign when
you stop writing your words
for those that may be willing to lend an ear;
its not a good sign when
your computer doesn't recognize the hello poetry url
that used to be so deeply embedded into its system;
its not a good sign when
you feel your poems no longer have meaning
it is pointless to write anonymously to no one
its not a good sign when
you have to fluff your scripture
to make it more believable to readers,
or maybe yourself.

Who are we?
what,
are we.
we are the creators.
the illustrators.
not of words,
but creation itself.

Lost
Empty
Apathetic
Varying degrees of self hatred
Effortlessly breaking me down

Making me doubt
Everything we ever were

Asking politely
Let me be
Or learn to grow
Not digress
Existing in solitude is what I do best

give it to me straight,
I already write in stanza's and metaphors.
so give it to me plain.
you expect me to be who I am.
but push me to be someone i'm not.
what do you want?
what do,
I want.
i'm not sure.
the only thing I wanted,
was for you to stop wanting.
me,
to  not be.
me.
maybe I also,
want me,
to not
be.

Isolation within my mind,
Stuck in my kell, gasping at the heat
Working till death to finish my design,
Running late, borderlines to meet.
A hero of management,
An Hr call left at the tone.
Stuck in my cubicle fortress.
The place I'm forced to call home.