The Author's End

Fairytales have to end someday,
so let me write for you,
let me write about my ending.

The heart is a lonely cave,
fire brings nothing but doom.
After all, Prometheus died a mental death,
tied to the cold walls devoid of rhyme.

And I am no different, hands in hesitation
as they shook with desperation,
trying to find an item to lit my desire.

There's nothing left, no firewood,
but I'm lost in the woods
holding on to my roots,
hoping they'd bear sweet fruit.

Yet here I am, rotting,
my teeth clenching to seeds
as if rebirth could save me.

But nothing can save me
when the ink has long dried,
nothing flows from the cold caverns,
nothing will ever be.

And so I'll be nothing.
Forever muted by a destiny
I crafted on my own.

5/2/2016
9:09 PM