What will happen to me?
When I can't create like I do
One day my hands will become unsteady
My mind will become too idle
And every emotion shall lay dormant
In a state of muddied existince
Every spark and ember will be gone
Every drop from the well will be lost
Like a wild fire running out of brush to burn
I will be lost with nowhere else left to run
What about you and me?
I'm terrified of how far time could take you away from me
All my big plans, dreams will be achieved because I know I can
But I could end up stretching about chaos onto our land
I'm terrified of this inevitable self-sabotage I'll cause
Because I'm a mess, and my words will soon be all lost
I'm terrified of loosing my passion
I'll lose you while trying to find you
And suffocate myself in a mountain of frustration
What if without you there is no passion?
The day your bones become one with the trees
Could be the day my poetry ceases to bleed
Because you're my passion, you're my everything
-----
A/N
This one is a bit short and messy, but I had this idea I had to get out of my head. I've been wondering about my really distant future, and if I'll keep creating, or even be able to. It's been bothering me a bit but I guess I don't have much to worry about for now. I suppose there's plenty of time for that.
YOU ARE READING
Hollow Mind
PoetryI'm struggling to feel more than numb, They say that time is supposed to heal you but look what it has done. If pain is a void, then I'm completely hollow and undone. Just some random asorted poetry, nothing more than a means of self expression.
