Good Morning
Years have passed since I last took pen and paper seriously. Taking a break has taken a toll on me. I am dying inside, yet I cannot make a sound. Lonely and alone, as time stands still, I thought time heals old wounds, Yet I am still hurting inside. I thought "Work hard, get a good job" was the plan. How wrong I was as I toiled, but the ground only responded with dust. The rains came and went, but there was no harvest. I tried and failed countless times, And I don't know if I have the strength to walk again. I am sorry for straying from the narrow path. It squeezed the life out of me, and as I sought a breath of fresh air, I was lost before I found myself again. I come back not with a bang, but with something even more.