Sodden was I in their praise; myself I let wash away
Their words, drops of nourishment to my own
A pedestal had I found beneath myself
My inspiration, had I forgotten.
Weeks pass, the error of my ways known
Studies do I pursue in vain
The serenity found, now lost
An act of passion, now a tedious task.
Attempted to mend, have I mentally
Fear the response, will I always
My name seeps no honor
The credit I claimed, was never owed.
Each write, diminished by discrepancy
Without you, is there no point to ink.