Abandoned Soul

TW: Death

Once I dreamt of

my extreme end-

I had become an abandoned house

A hollow shell;

deficient of art-

My creative self

had died;

my last breath,

leaving with all the colors;

even consisting of all the black's and white's

My rusting soul,

creaked with disintegration,

Like the dead windows

that no more opened

to lively views,

Even the zephyr

could no more open

the dead wooden doors;

of imagination.

I had been diminished into a

shadowless matter;

of no more substance,

and no more rhythm.

No more patterns,

but tunes and heartbeat.

And then I wake up...

only to realize-

that death was not my ultimate end.