Above all, there is nothing

I often wondered what can be written nowadays

What remained unsaid or what can be invented in a strange-attractive way



Since all authentic pieces of art demand to be felt

And we all feel in a different way

There might still be a change for creation to rise and yell : "I am!"



But I cannot do this anymore

And up to now I thought that God has taken back his gift from me

But he did not.

I realised that I cannot feel anything...

Neither joy, nor pain

Just a violent sense of time

Passing too slow

Leading to nothing impressive.



So God, if you're there,

Grant me this wish and make me immortal again

At the cost of how many wasted nights and tears you want

And lovers that come and go,and dreams which cannot be achieved

I'll fight for each of then ,I swear

But otherwise at least I'll write them down

And trough that I shall unleash my mind



My mind once thriving, now twisted.