Three years ago, I experienced a drought
Filled with hatred, anxiety and self-doubt.
From the lush crop of innocence and joy
I became a dead shoot, pillaged and destroyed.
Demons attached to my thick skin, I roam
Not recognizing what used to be home
Tense to the bone, crippled,followed by fear
An amnesiac that forgot what once was dear.
When will they leave- the wraiths who robbed my soul?
Am I to remain this...decrepit ghoul?
Defunct creature that refuses to grow
Unable to apply the things she knows
Who steps forward in time to see square one
Who disdains the very idea of fun
Three years it has been, how long will it be
Before there's some light in this cursed Destiny?