All Used Up

My weathered cracks feel the cold
despite the soaring temperature.
All my passion has been wasted,
and I can no longer look at
my naked self
in the mirror

I have no bathed lyrics,
no sun drenched ideas for contemplation.
I was never one of the lunatic fringe
mistaken for the whole lampshade.

I am just to tired
to pray in cardboard chapels
or crawl across the concrete
in search for words.
I can no longer look at
my naked self in the mirror.
I have no bathed lyrics,
no sun drenched ideas for contemplation.

I am sick of hearing my own cries on paper

Bobbie Kilzer Gogain