FAREWELL, SHALL WE?

today, words run away from me, I try finding words to lament or the snidest remark to decry the state of my mind to describe the wanton corrosion of the living I once deemed dear but all I gather are sighs and unprintable mutterings my writing pad, as if upset with me stares back to mock me and the pen I used to tire now does backflips out of boredom but at the back of the tired brain a whisper so inaudible; " of pushing a wheel less cart uphill, of waiting for a train at a bus stop, of praying for rain during harvest, of throwing a bouquet at a funeral, all futilities, yet you expect different " I'm now lost, should I write this? I guess it's time to put down the pen