Losing the sight of myself,
Faster than ever before ,
Decreasing in ones stealth ,
The deafening applauds.
Dried out of my own ink ,
This ink my eyes once used to yell ,
Once a link,
Now a dried out well.
I don't write as I once did ,
I can no longer express ,
No words left to be said ,
It seems to be compressed,
Into something so indifferent .
Maybe it is coming to an end ,
My end ,
The way my heart would speak ,
How my fingers crossed,
My eyes waiting to leak ,
Just by the thought,
Of being able to seek ,
A way from feeling distraught,
I was at my peak .
I've lost that ,
Where or to whom or even when ,
Maybe I went down the wrong path ,
Maybe it was god sent .
It is coming to an end .
21 December 23
