No More Passion to Write about

Happiness can seem so distant
Given the resistance by these outside forces
Holding me down, refusing to let go
Of the stranglehold known as underachieving
Whoa is me – unbelievably – if I could see myself now 10 years ago
Lonely, isolated, and suffering so
Miserably, from a lack of sleep
More like a little lost sheep
Wandering, always looking for greener pastures
Opportunities have been squandered
Slow down - This is a disaster
Poetry – used to flow so freely
The creativity that used to seep out of these pores
Is gone right now, just like my outlook has drowned
In a sea of disarray – watch as it dissipates
Right down to the core – hopeless, fearful, and somewhat ignored
There’s always room for better days
But in this basement there’s always darkness
Don’t know where I’m headed
So many different directions
But every which way, the roads seem to be distant
A million miles away – just taking things day by day
With this depleting cash flow
And a body that feels like a million years old
Don’t want to end up, broke, bored, lonely and cold
Sitting on the back porch of a desolate home
No friends, no family, nobody to hold
Me up when life turns its back on me
Laughing uncontrollably, like a mischievous game of hide and seek
My biggest fears are more likely to reach
The center of all this frustration
What once was bright is now dark and dreary
A mind full of panic and utter futility
So vulnerable – no one to turn to
Where do you go when life turns its back on you?