DashPoetry Mocks Me

The slightest writing waited watching from the past with wild youth
Age is the poison of my mind and the stopper in the top
Bottling the flow with trivialities and meaninglessness
So this is what they called “life” and “all grown up”
Was this the goal all along?

To have no time or substance for finding the new words hiding
To become consumed with survival
Selling yourself for the almighty dollar
No longer seeking beauty or printing pain
Letting routine or contentment distract you from You

It’s all this, and the proof is when you hastily scrawl something down
And it is as lifeless and shallow as an oyster