Do I still write as well as I used to?
Is my writing as lackluster as my relationship,
Or is it eccentric beyond tradition.
Does it contain the same effervescence as those before?
Am I in a time warp, wasting away my days?
Instead of bettering myself,
Self-recognition was my blind side.
When I wrote emotionally
The words spoke of improvement,
Yet what has developed is rather disappointing.