A dream is dead, only work remains.
No splendid deeds of creative worth;
or even ones of pure mediocrity.
So bury my mind and body
in the dirt.
I may still be living;
but my mind's inert.

Goodbye pen, paper,
notes and words.
My spirit is
Split and burned.

I was a fool to
think I'd ever be
more than a fool.

Goodbye; This life
grows too cool.