the inevitable

*thirty-eight

i sit in disbelief
the intricately woven ocean of words
is something but a memory to me.
as i type these words
i feel nothing other than
a sad desperation
and a caricature of who i once was.
nothing i say has enough imagery and depth
my feelings have flatlined and everything i wanted to say has been said.
retracing my steps
gasping at who i once was
the artist, forgotten
growing up but never realizing what i've lost.
i was capable of amazing things,
i put together haunting memories
that take me aback
itching and scratching at what i had meant.
i filled these lines of inquiries
with who i am and who i will be.
so much hope of the future
i dropped every pen and pencil i had.
i am at a loss for words,
melancholy and repetition flow over me.
thank you for leaving behind a glowing path of recovery and strength.
i may be lost now,
but your words will always wrap me in a reminder.
you were here.
you made your impact.
it's now time to make mine.