The deep hum
Near the end of the
Shadowed hallway
Beckons.

Shall you follow
The note that leads you forward?

Where else to go
But the place that
Calls for you?

Comfort is heard
In the dark tone.

Your path awaits
an action.

Though the flame may flicker
Perhaps it can linger,
If not only for another hour,
For then my passion dies
As I can no longer see the parchment
On which I write.

Words become fewer,
Thoughts less unique
And rather simple now indeed;
Maybe the autumn breeze
Will help me eaze up
And find some better rhymes.

The sun faced
Of a pale paste,
That which reflects
A most sour taste;
The mirror upon my pallet.

The longer the time
And the farther the distance
I distance myself
From my ink and my pen,
Restlessness sets in;

And yet,
Where, now, are my words?

You're parasitic,
So acidic
You burn through my tongue
And deflate my lungs,
But you're always there
And I always care
Even though you're nothing more than
Spare feelings I thought I needed.

I don't know how you came back in,
Whether you slithered through slits in my skin folds
Or slipped back on the ***** into the same hole
That once upon a time we used to call love,
But is now a void of null emotions,
An "impenetrable bubble" that only one person could ever pop;
But yet you managed to do so twice.

Shame on my optimistic past.