The Pen of Yesterday

I can’t hold it anymore.
My hand trembles.
My body sweats.
The memory of the past,
comes to shake my mortal limbs.
Because there’s no future ahead of me.
And the present seems to evaporate before my inquiring gaze.
All hope is gone. Has vanished.
A hope that never once thought of blessing me with dreams,
but allowed me to linger like a phantom
through the ages.
The needle that pierces my skin, giving me the agony
of death, making it surreal.
Words that were never written.
Looming away the sad stories of my life.
Loose clothes and dark strands that have no meaning
My joys have been molded and shaped by the hammer
of obstacles and pain.
there’s nothing sweet left for me
Not even a book.
Nor a pen.
For they belong to yesterday.

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