Saying “used to” has become my past time
because it’s past time to find my inspiration again.
It’s what made me feel more than a useless piece of shit.
I lust for that once great luster I thought I held…
I thought I could have held you:
my muse, my wonder.
Perhaps because I haven’t seen you
I haven’t been able to make use of the time on my hands
anymore than I used to do.
In fact I’m using my time less and less
as I run out of time to use for all the mundane things that I’m doing
instead of writing about you: you my muse, my love…
I have forgotten if I loved you, or the feeling you gave me.


Feel free to offer critique or encouragement.

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