I bite into a tasteless apple.
It is penance for my past days of gluttony,
still, I feel bland and uninspired.
I beg for the ocean to swallow me,
then throw me back to familiar ground
It might bring forth words flowing
into the shallow end of my brain.
Fuel for the fire
that used to stir in my soul.
Now I am cold
like the rain-soaked earth.
has turned to ashes,
and I needlessly pour gasoline
creating a lethal cocktail
when a good night’s sleep
might be the most restorative potion
to perform some magical inspiration.
© Connie Song 2022. All Rights Reserved.