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Defeat
It's gone.
Every bit of talent,
has been sapped from my soul.
What happened
to make me,
writing prodege
quake at the sight of a blank page?
How is it possible
that I can't manage more than a few weak sentances
and sloppy prose
when just a little while ago
I was on my way?
I'm empty
now, a shell of what
I could have been.
Talentless, and afraid of the words
I used to love so much.
Hubris is the final death stroke
to the way I used to life.
Pride keeps me from trying
for fear of failing.
Can i gain back what I've lost?
I doubt it.