Dull

The ink is running low
and the pencil lost its lead.
How does life crawl so slow,
yet I feel old enough to join the dead?
That wit, that supposed sharpness
has succumbed to slumber
as I lay in fractured darkness
counting days down by the number.
My brain is buzzing with boredom
and brimming with a blatent hold
telling me my life-built kingdom
is meaningless without a soul.
Passion has perished
as my joy grows numb;
is this how it's meant to be? Have I just become dumb?
Have the things I once cherished
truly fallen into nostalgia?
I'm still so young, I'm not ready to say goodbye.