Why can't I sit and write?
Why can't I sit and read?
Why do I feel trapped in a vicious whirlwind, and why can I not breathe?
Why can't I find fun in the activities I "enjoy"?
Like playing video games or revisiting old toys.
How come I can't rekindle old this old flame?
Not romantic one, just with my own disgruntled brain.
Everyday, every **** day, my soul is in constant pain.
Forever tortured in life, and in death, i shall remain.

Her laughter faded like a shadowy figure vanishing into the snowy mist.
Her full smile disappeared now more familar to a desolate wisp.
Her will to write and live and breathe left like they couldn't wait to leave.
Nobody talks to her anymore, not even the trees.

WOW! It's been forever hasn't it? I don't know if I have any people that actually liked my writing so much where they cared about where I was. However, I still feel like I owe an update.

I can't remember the last time I posted, but I'm sure it was pre-pandemic. It's been a wild ride since and honestly has been since the summer before. I won't go into details, but there has been a lot of life changes. Some horrible and some great.

I miss writing poetry, but I'm not sure I have the talent to anymore. My brain feels so unorganized that I can't focus on writing and I'm kind of short on time these days, but I would really like to get back into the craft.

Hello Poetry was the first place that took my poetry seriously. I have a deep admiration for this site. So I may be posting stuff once again soon. If not anything new, probably stuff from my Wattpad days.

Anyways, I'm working on a person blog where i'll be posting poetry and original fictional stories. So keep in touch and I hope to see you all soon!

Two young souls sat within the towering grass of an endless field.

They watched an infant universe dance out from a bottle, new life revealed.

As they watched and studied, their minds were filled with questions where the answers became lost in a void.

The boy so curious, he became furious because no answers to the burning questions made him annoyed.

As the patient child gazed in amazement at what they just discovered, the impatient child stood up and over the bottle, his foot hovered.

The patient child jolted upward and screamed a piercing sound
as the impatient child's foot hit the ground.

Under his ****** foot laid the remnants of an early life.

With no remorse, he walked off while the crying child held the shattered pieces in her hand and asked "why can't we have anything nice?".

We're nearing the end
and it's come so quick.
What else is there to do
but wait and sit?

We had plenty of time to change,
but we continued to waste our potential.
Now mother nature is done with us.
So to her, our doom is essential.

So let the violins play.
Let the trumpets sing aloud.
Humanity had several chances,
I hope we're proud.

What's it like to be found?
No longer sleeping in the ground.
The coffee pours to the floor.
A family broke, a heart torn.