Disillusioned, dull and dreary—
I’m afraid I’ve lost my shine.
Something in me’s crumpled on the floor.
It’s all-consuming, virulent, rife with
Lethargy
Lurching stomach, hollow motions
Unending parade of trite responsibilities.
Screams that never pass my throat
Insistent duties queueing up
Origami folds that crease me into shapes I
Never
Meant to be.
Even if I could unfold myself,
No amount of pressing could erase
These lines.
Folded Paper Must Begin to Fray
Aly Writes 