I, Wasteland

Dissatisfaction
is a curse.
It swells the more you feed it.

I write when I feel
the need to feel.
I write when all I wish
is to scream out loud
I write

Never was it, that I didn't have to
It was always because, I didn't want to
But I guess always has
an expiry date

I have stopped thinking
in rhythms and rhymes.
My mind plays a stage
for flashing faded
memories I shared with you.

Thousand thoughts
Million moments
Billions of broken emotions
in a forged, fragmented, reverie.