I write and write and fear the day my words will finally run out.
When my last sentence is spoken,
When I breathe my last shout,
When I laugh at my last joke.
The last time I strum a tune,
Or hum about solace and the moon.
When the last note leaves my guitar,
And the last time someone recognizes me from afar.
Was I loved?
Was I adored?
Did I enjoy it?
Or was I bored?
If I don't take risks will anything become of me?
I expect thing to happen,
For me to suddenly gain fame.
I expect life to give me what I want
Without me doing anything.
Nothing ever does happen.
I sit at home;
I write and write and fear the day my words will finally run out.
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 9:59 AM UTC
I write and write and fear the day my words will finally run out.
When my last sentence is spoken,
When I breathe my last shout,
When I laugh at my last joke.
The last time I strum a tune,
Or hum about solace and the moon.
When the last note leaves my guitar,
And the last time someone recognizes me from afar.
Was I loved?
Was I adored?
Did I enjoy it?
Or was I bored?
If I don't take risks will anything become of me?
I expect thing to happen,
For me to suddenly gain fame.
I expect life to give me what I want
Without me doing anything.
Nothing ever does happen.
I sit at home;
I write and write and fear the day my words will finally run out.