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.
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