The eagerness to write is slowly fading
Ideas dry up as the days pass
My hands,once tools for the manifestation of imagination, have began to forget their purpose.
As the title of creator slowly moves further from my reach;
A deep depression overcomes me
The realization that all that I stand for is becoming a myth
The will to live has eluded me
Unable to find a purpose in this world, nor can I see one being possible
As the grass grows and the sun shines, I begin to fade from memory
Sinking slowly into turmoil and despair, I envy all able to float
I hope one day soon I am able to rise above