Tortured Artist (Who Am I Part Ii) Poem by Keith Anastase KAMOSSO

I want to write but there is no ink
Like an empty space where the ocean used to be
Like the sky with no stars or the moon
Like I'm in the place with no air
Like I want the answers from a tricky world

I used to make sense of everything I do or write
Sense out of my hands' mind's work
Significance whenever I open my eyes and see
But now it's black and gray
Like tunnel without an end

It's not about writing the blind fate
Or narrating about the fading summer
But it was all about the moment of clarity
The moment of reality and formality
Just only something that means something to someone

Thoughts in my head are like water spring
I don't regret it since I only value it
I see that feeling but why ruining it
Why should I write if I am not good at it?
Why ruin it if it's that important?

But who am I asking the myth of my mind?
I mean, I look in your eyes and I see the same feeling
The same fear that I feel deep down in my soul
Like you and I are just one soul in two pieces
I guess it's a fate that can't be inked on paper

I feel lost in place I called home
Like a fathered child but again abandoned
Like a broken compass with south-side in north-side
Like an old island map with no legends on it
Like there is no beginning or the end of this