Creative

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.

 

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