Without an idea today,
I sat next to the table.
With a stare on some old wine,
And the words, that today are not payable.
Poured a glass down, with a pen in my hand,
The music felt disturbing, if though it was my fav. band.
I sneaked within, what seemed like a world of holes,
I looked deep, and there was nothing, I could see like the normal souls.
“Revolt maybe?”, I asked. “Tired of them”, it passed.
I couldn’t suffice what a disgrace I had felt.
With the weird, shallow, and vague, and the fear dealt.
Gulping what was a never seen fact, Figuring where loose string broke down, torn the pact.
I, with no inspiration called for my soul once again.
It, with no interest and sheer contempt towards me, woke like I have never trained.
“A topic? To write? Its getting darker. I need to sleep.”
“Think of me, and what you saw today. That’s a reflection of yours.”
“This dark and lonely?”
“Maybe more.”
That wine was never sipped,
That feeling was never lipped.
The sheets read it, with despair.
The soul had said it, with all it’s dare.