It's like I'm lost,
Wondering who I'll be tomorrow,
Thinking of whose
Identity I'll borrow.
Spiralling in a whirlpool of greed,
I'm left unhappy,
I've been consumed by need.
Reviewing the passion with which you once wrote,
I laugh at the pain,
As meaningful as a mote.
I should pick up my pen and return to my book,
Perhaps with more flattery,
I'll give you one more look.
*Summary of how I've felt since I've written anything new… I don't really like the final stanza-- it seems far too superficial. Then again, I do want your attention… Tune in, I feel some inspiration coming on.