But what happens then if a poet broke?
Words lose meaning,
Pages end up burning,
Once so beautiful rhythms are now deafening.

I gave up.
I gave up on my dreams.
I gave up every ounce of hope.
I gave up on who I was.

I gave up on everything almost everyone held dear,
On what they only dreamt of having,
The power, the fame, the money, the pleasure.
I gave up on the very thing I lived for.

All for a shot of redemption.

I find subtle irony in it.
And now here I am...