I lost it. It came to be like a pen,
filled with ink, ready to imprint,
on paper, the ideas, the thoughts,
that now, I have lost.

And now, that I think about it,
it wasn't but a pen on my hand,
It was but the ability
to get lost in this pen,
to wander in thoughts,
to never find that I got lost
and while I got lost
that I would also lose part of my mind.

Yes, I lost the sense of what it is true,
I lost the sense of what it is the essence of life,
I lost the purpose of what is to live
I lost it

I thought that by writing, I would find
what I yearned to find,
And I wrote and I found what I thought
I wanted to find,


but ultimately,

I found nothing.

I only found out,
that life goes on...
and that life
kept going without me.