All that I have created?
Empty words.
They flutter about my head on gausomer wings.

In,
and out,
and all about.

Four months of thought?
Only on flimsy things.
Significance has been too rare in my life.

In,
out,
none about.

Is fear or appathy my greatest enemy?
Both dampen my emotions.
Thick wet blankets placed on my tiny flame.

On,
snuffed out,
nothing about.

How does anyone bear this weight?
Existence is massive,
And we are all Atlas of slighter frame.

Life,
filled with doubt,
pressure throughout.