You know that it is bad,
When the thing you love becomes a chore.
You know its bad,
When your passion becomes poor.
It feels like your well has gone dry,
and all that you can produce is a lie.
No charming metaphors,
Or silly rhymes,
Can bring back your passion.
It is gone for good.
The thing that used to come so easy,
The crutch you used to hold
It’s rare now.
More rare than gold.
I thought I knew what to do.
I thought this was my calling.
Everytime I look at the blank page,
It is like I have frozen on a stage.
Everyone’s eyes were on me
and I forgot my lines.
Maybe I was mistaken?
Or maybe this is temporary?
You know that it is bad,
When your passion is now your pain.
When the thing that you love is now as sharp as broken glass.
You just keep getting cut, and you don’t stop.
From a mansion,
To ash through the wind.
I guess it has gotten bad again.
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Featured image credits to De_mi_voz_voces on Pixabay
