Running on empty,
With nothing left to give.
Smiling,
Weights on each corner.
A fragmant of my former self,
A starved ghost. Barely me.
Turned to autopilot,
Coasting with fumes.
Of Poetry and Sound: Raw Free Verse of an Overthinker
Running on empty,
With nothing left to give.
Smiling,
Weights on each corner.
A fragmant of my former self,
A starved ghost. Barely me.
Turned to autopilot,
Coasting with fumes.