Some expressive stuff.

I, once a creative creature that live;
Once a creature believed in all great things
In this far land mountains and all seas,
I, once a happily free-to-fly bird;
Once a wanderer who seeks adventures
Form this wild world to harsh people’s ideas,

Once I was a wanderer of this world,
Once, creativity was my brain’s food,
Once, I’m able to draw pictures with words,
And once I’m loved by people who read them,

What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I use my words
Like I used to do back a year ago?
Why am I stuck in this unpleasant cage
Of numb and dull skin and nerve of all sort
And ignore beauty of all things near me?
No, when did I stuck in this bloody cage?
When did I ignore the beauty of all?
When did I stop appreciate my life?
When did I forget what I like to do?
When did I forget who I really am?

Is it my repeatitive lifestyle that
Make everything seems so none and empty?
Is it my routine that drain my life out
One by one and no one will notice it
Until I become a soulless zombie?
Is it the two above that banish things
I used to do for my own happiness?
Is it all three that made me what I am
Right now telling y’all my senseless suffer
That I face and only I am the one
Who see it and took it so seriously?

Probably is my answer to that one:
See, I am nolonger a wanderer,
I live with creativity nomore,
And I can nolonger be loved by those
Who read my nonsense verses and poems,
Nolonger be able to use my words
To draw a picture they see like before,
Nomore, none of them, none, nothing, rien!

Exploring people’s inspiration’s fun;
Sharing mine with those who care is better;
Manifest it to the world is the best;
But since I could never done it before
I do sure it must be somefeeling else
I could never ever get a chance to feel.