I'm sad the previous page had to go, I let it be said.
I'd, however be glad to make this reply into a poem, but my mind, as is my fountain of inspiration, running on dead.
Perhaps this coming week will provide a spark, but one can only live so long talking but without being heard, and providing food for thought only to watch it spoil,
I don't have the effort to be downtrodden any longer. I wonder what's wronger, though: allowing this madness to be trickled through,
or resigning to state that you tried to change it, but now you're falling victim to the void as well.
Not enough fortitude is being shown in the poem-writing project of mine, huh?