I was just about to write
song for the dumped
despite the fact
that someone beat me to it
by twenty years.
I am no longer creative.
I am no longer original.
I feel stupid, contagious
thick as a brick.

I’m not half the man I used to be
just crying, wishing, hoping
that my art will get back to me.
It don’t come easy.
I’m trapped.
I am losing steam
higher, higher
and it ain’t ever gonna stop!

This is what I am now:
bending to whatever inspiration
is around me,
constantly folding under pressure.

It’s just not fair.