One day I got tired of writing,
my metaphors lost all their grace,
all I could say has been written,
there's no room for me in this place.
Ideas have lost their coherence,
I couldn't keep track of my rhymes,
there's no room for me in this place,
I'm losing control of my mind.
My friends and my mirrors keep shouting
"there's no room for you in this place!"
I feel I should write my last ending
with gravity's earthly embrace.
There's no room for me in this place,
I walk in the darkness and sigh;
abandoned constructions are scarce,
I guess it's a bad day to fly.
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