Poetry's run right outta me.

All the lyricism and skill have poured
from me like tears,
but I've run dry.

Nothing but dust and memories left
of what used to be my one and only
coping mechanism.

But last night,
I restocked my jewelry box.
Reorganized and useless bits tossed out,
I've readied it for use.

It's not as good as it could be,
believe me. But for how far I'm
willing to fall, it has to be enough.

It has to be enough.