Once was a poem, now just some words.
I was all decompressed, by the lack of something,
To catch me when I fall.
Fail.

Once was a singer, now just some songs.
Decaying in the attic with some old clothes.
Placed there by an entity that used to look like
A shadow of myself.

And whilst I try
To arise from the sink of my life,
I think I see a smile
In the mirror.
The water drains.