I write, but it all seems pointless
Disjointed,
Useless, and Dejected.

This way of expression I created
Has seemed to still and stopper
A Goner.

Done for. Finished.
I used to relish the kiss of
inspiration and entanglement
into something that seemed purer
than myself

Now, my words dust on a shelf
Inspiration strikes and snaps;
disjointed and useless.

Sapped.
I find myself writing for a voice
, and musical ability, which
I do not possess

I pray I will be able to pick up a pen soon
And write away this uselessness.