The Day I Stopped Writing and Living

And then, I broke my pen, Left a poem undone again. The path was clear, the goal was near, Yet, I turned away in silent fear. She once said, "This isn’t fate, I’m not the one; it’s far too late. You’re so kind, my closest friend." And so, my kindness met its end. I shed my light, embraced the night, Turned my wrongs into my right. Destroyed myself with careless hands, Shattered dreams like broken strands. I lost my joy, I lost my way, I let my heart just fade away. What’s a body but mere disguise, When pain and sorrow fill the eyes? Then one day, a thought struck me, "Why did you choose this misery?" The joy of dressing up with pride, The endless laughs I used to hide. The playful fights, the silly fun, The careless days spent in the sun. The half-told tales, the twisted dreams, The stolen moments, whispered schemes. The teasing words, the mother’s care, The love I thought would always be there. I left it all in just one breath, And drowned myself in living death. Yes... I broke my pen.