the poet is jealous;
envious that he lacks recognition
he wants to be like other poets
the poet seeks attention;
his pieces are not sincere anymore
he lies when he writes
the poet is ailing;
slowly and unconsciously writing to impress
and not to express
the poet has gone numb;
plain and heartless,
he can’t feel a thing
the poet is screaming;
feel, feel, feel!
yet the words had lost their allure
the poet tries to write;
sadness no longer fuels his creativity
letters scattered is all that written
the poet is lost;
he doubted his purpose of writing
he feels that he should stop
the poet is helpless
he cried for help
but no one bothered to move an inch
the poet is feeling plain
he lost passion in everything he loved
he lost himself
the poet,
is now dead.