I have lost it.
My youth has left me;
All creativity sucked from my soul,
And doubts sink in.
Was I ever a new thought?
Was I ever impressive?
Was I ever desired?
Or was I simply delusional?
Have I ever felt that overrated emotion?
Or was it pure imagination?
I feel so hollow.
My fleeting moods are not enough to define me.
I am but an insignificant speck
Perhaps attempting to find my place
In a purgatory of self-pity,
Which is utterly, infuriatingly pathetic.
Switching to a new mood.
Discontent.
I am one step behind anorexic
And two steps beyond bulimic.
Shall I fear possible cancer
Or shall I fool myself into believing
That in the afterlife
I have all eternity to be a wraith?
I own nothing.
None of this is mine.
So why all the effort?
Why all the pain?
Why all this longing for the peace of indifference?
Why all this inconsistency?
Why all these questions?
Faith.
