Dreary

Oh but will I ever again see the sun? How long is my life to remain a painting that the artist gave up on?

There is no color in my surroundings or even my face and try as I might, I just can't keep up the pace of those around me.

They soar past while I am at a standstill,

And I know if I continue in any direction it's all uphill and I just don't have the energy.

So will this winter ultimately be the death of me?

Or will the sun finally come back to set me free?

With it will it bring color and life back to my bored and weary soul?

I need a change of scenery.

Lately, I feel that I've lost all control.

This poem is about: 
Me

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