My branches are crumbled,
Fickle and thin.
My air losing volume,
Unraveling oxygen.
My creativity shatters,
Crushed and abused.
My mind is a wanderer,
Dazed but unconfused.
My art is losing meaning,
Withering paint.
My religion losing passion,
A twisted saint.
My being caving in,
Lost, chagrin.
I'm not who I was,
The artist within.