They used to come in plenty, the ideas, the thoughts, the masterpieces
But the time flew and built a current that only swept away the efforts
His mind became an abyss, full of darkness, and restless, he lost it
the grip he earlier had on his esteem, the imagination that lured
greatness towards him. He tried once and then twice to bring out the
ideals on paper and then on soft-copy but his mind was logged.
logged with distress and the feeling of uselessness that only did well in
spearheading discouragement- the kind that he needed to avoid, but that couldn't leave him be
So it seemed that everyone else could be happy, but him
he pushed away the good so he could deal with the bad, but the bad took away the good that the good had instilled in him, he became angry and mean, smiling when really, it was a disguised frown . He never hated, at least no one else but himself, for who he had become and what he had done times over. Where true happiness lay he would never know, he would never grow to be the man he saw himself to be in his future, his hope was washed away by the waves of speeding pessimism and his heart heavy with pain that he brought upon himself.
Had his time been the time of king Arthur, he would have gladly taken to the guillotine
and let down the blade upon his neck so that his life would end and relinquish himself off the torture that he had immersed himself into. THERE'S A FUTURE! his mind tells him, but his eyes do not see that for they have been blinded by the things he sees in the world, things that he thinks he needs, but that really add no value/...................................