When Hard Work Ceases to Pay Off
Words, once abundant, now fail me.
Solitary, I step outdoors,
The breeze greets my cheeks bitterly.
Grieving for hope I had no right to conceive.
Nights are spent gazing inanely into the sky;
It is interspersed by shades
That spread like a giant bruise:
But it means nothing to me.
Questions foist my mind.
Were you carnally driven?
We are but collateral damage
In your bid for self-reinvention.
By day, I vest in our last moments;
Proof that you did once care.
A face, twisted by despondence,
Though, any feelings you may have grown, died;
Wilted within moments-
We shrivelled, like a plant without the sun;
Or perhaps, like snowdrops,
We desiccated when the heat became too much.
I wallow in austerity;
Repeating each daily ritual,
As if the futile suddenly means something.
Words, meaningless now, are written across a page,
Repeated over countless days,
In copious different ways,
But it always ends the same.