I never wanted to be a poem,
a poet is what I was born to be.
But what am I when there's nothing left to write,
when there's nothing left to feel?

I'm a walking dead among the living,
the withered roses at the end of spring.
I'm a spectator of my life,
the phantom of my passion.

A poet is what I dreamt to be,
but the numbness of my heart
devoured every inch of my soul
and now the words won't come.
© e_black.sam