That is it.
I saw it coming.
All is gone.
Nothing to hold on to.
Nothing left inside or outside.
No more dreams.
No more options.
Always on the edge.
And now what.
For once I’ll not be poetic.
For once I’ll not leave a message, a moral of the story,
a teaching, an inspirational piece of knowledge.
For once I’ll not paint it pretty.
I’ll go to bed until they come and find me.
Or until I find myself again.