writer in the dark

Another emptied bottle of rum,
with sunshine in my pocket,
yet i remained sober,
having let my heart suffer again.
My mind wouldn’t stop playing these clips
of how the sun set at noon,
without a corresponding rise of the moon,
and a cloudy sky void of stars.
The cold breeze of apathy blows upon me,
as i watched my inspiration walk into obscurity,
leaving me to be another writer in the dark.

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