I can be creative
But only when I feel
Just a void and it eroded away
Every emotion I once felt.
Ask me what is the worst way to live.
It is the life with those pleasures
In whose presence you once enthralled in
Those pleasures you once named your solace,
Your only savior from the atrocities of your life.
But one day they stopped saving you.
Neither could you relate to them anymore.
You keep them in the back of your mind at all times
But something stops you from availing them.
And then for the very first time
In your alone state of being
You find yourself vulnerable.
What once used to be the ideal state to be
Now haunts you the best.