Transformation made,

It's like I'm lost,

Originality fades.

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.