Silent despair,
wandering there.

You see it everyday;
a hopeless entity
pretending to be
of any substance,

When in reality,
they've been reduced
to Nonexistence.

My honest sincerity
Mixed with your cynical glare
Makes a certain kind of beauty
That causes quite a flare
I wonder how long,
At your scarce smiles,
I could stare.
So beautiful, there.

I look to you,
As you look to me
And you and I,
A bittersweet solidarity.

Not enough verses.
Not enough rhymes.
Not enough comments
Not enough likes.
Delete. delete. Delete.

The words I prided myself in
That won no awards
That were not good enough
To be heard.
Delete. delete. Delete.

Embarrassing thoughts
Of a younger me.
A silly child
Is now all I see.
But clearly
I'm more lost now
Than I was then
And maybe that angers me.
Delete. delete. Delete.

Will I write again?
Probably not.
I've lost my passion.
My words only rot.
They can no longer shine
Or comfort me.
Delete. delete. Delete.

It may be selfish
Maybe somebody saw
And felt something,
Anything at all.
Anger, joy, static,  relief.
Though I'm sure that's
Not the case with me.
Delete. delete. Delete.

It's over.
Done.
Been and gone.
Me.
And my time with
Poetry.

And here I am,
Pressing on repeat,
Delete. delete. Delete.

Gently floating in my dreams, weightless, only as I sleep..
Lost easily, and often, if only my voice could reach..
And so I stand, waiting for
Something unknown, something unheard of..
Sharp as a blade, yet somehow, I remain weaker.