My life unfolds as a canvas,
A blank landscape dying for substance,
With the brush of a master I draw stick-figures:
Hazy and vacant, they live.
A flood of blankness cascades,
Creeping the crevices of my life,
Consuming my fears and my loves,
Devouring my uniqueness
To leave a bland oblivion.
Where is my fight--where is my spirit?
It too has been blurred and smudged,
I am left with meek memories of
My former potential.
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