I wish I was still read; ink bleeding through the pages

its colour

                                                                                      blood red.

I am no longer relevant,

my thoughts weeping out meaningless words;

                           the forgotten vapors of my very soul

       evaporating out there in the world

                                                                                       alone.

I was once a writer

                                STRONG and Bold

but now I just attempt…

                                                                       Merely Attempt

to type out the words I once knew very well.

        The pillars supporting my entire existence.

I miss my words.

I miss my passion.

          I’ve given away a gift for a life others want me to live.

I used to be a writer a long time ago.

I wish to return my soul to its kingdom.

I wish to give my heart the blood it created.