This is not a poem,
I really wish I could write one again.
This a sad echo,
from someone who is already dead.

I used to be better,
when that part of me was alive.
She was the one that understood my soul,
she transformed my tears in art.

But I killed her, I killed me,
and now I can't see through my tears
I'm drowning, but I can't scream.
  I'm speechless.

I forgot how to write poetry

.
...
.....She.....
.was the sun.
...and her love...
....was to powerful....
.......for you to handle.....
.............and now you............
..............are just  a  pile  of..............
.............................ashe­s............................

I'm not good enough I can't do this I have no talent They won't care
  a                                                           ­                                                   I       
m                                    I'm locked inside a cage                                 m 
a                                         that I built myself                                        p   f                                         But I can't get out                                         a  
a                                             I can't escape                                             t
i                                         from my own mind                                      h
l                                                              ­                                                    e
u                                                 Help me                                                 t
r                                                I'm trapped                                             i
e          ­                                                                                                       c
I would never make the diference I'm dumb I can't write I'm done

.
It
is
true,
you are
totally right.
I'm as dry as
a desert, I'm a dead
empty land. I used to be
a  jungle  when  the  clouds
where by my side, and now that
they are gone, my trees, my dreams
they dried and died. Because of this,
nothing grows inside of me, there is
only silence and despair. I can't feel
what  I  write,  I  barely  feel alive
I want to feel human again
Oh god, I really miss
the rain