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.

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