Running out of Ideas,
My soul yells at me to keep writing,
And so I follow its command into the depths of nihilism,
Into the depths of the meaningless, nothingness
My pen follows a gentle touch led by my tired hand,
Tired eyes gaze at the paper destined to be read by noone,
So I question myself, what is the cause to still keep going ?
The truest form of writing is for one's self after all,
But sharing made them worthwhile furthermore,
Now I have no one to share with, no one to bore,
When the last leafs were falling, my creativity bid farewell,
Now there is no meaning to the stories of wisdom I try to tell,
But, at least one spark still lightens my lonesome way,
If but one soul can take inspiration from this madness,
From the lonely thoughts of my being, cast into reality,
Then I shall listen to my dying heart and stop moving this pen,
With the last breath I take.

~ Umi