Lost
Lost in my own head
I vaguely recognize the rooms
The hallways, the staircases
But the bright colors have faded
The lights are half dimmed
Like returning to a place
You thought you'd left for good
I wander through the space
Gazing at old dreams and plans
Dusty and forgotten
I pick up my old habits
And strap them on
But they feel lifeless
Devoid of the passion
They used to hold
I feel like a gardener
Who's faced with a field
That has been long abandoned
The plants are brown
And a few are already dead
The soil is dry and cold
Yet there is no choice
But to weed, hoe, and water
To spend hours toiling
In the punishing sun
And freezing cold rain
Trying to tempt life
Back into the dying leaves
No matter how long it takes
Because there is nothing left
No other options
Nothing left
It stinks
Because I never liked yard work
