the poet is jealous;
envious that he lacks recognition
he wants to be like other poets

the poet seeks attention;
his pieces are not sincere anymore
he lies when he writes

the poet is ailing;
slowly and unconsciously writing to impress
and not to express

the poet has gone numb;
plain and heartless,
he can’t feel a thing

the poet is screaming;
feel, feel, feel!
yet the words had lost their allure

the poet tries to write;
sadness no longer fuels his creativity
letters scattered is all that written

the poet is lost;
he doubted his purpose of writing
he feels that he should stop

the poet is helpless
he cried for help
but no one bothered to move an inch

the poet is feeling plain
he lost passion in everything he loved
he lost himself

the poet,
is now dead.