Wallow

Everyone wants me to pick up where I left off
but,
I don't think I have anything to say anymore
I'm unamused,
fuming at the mediocre musings I conjure
I'm sorry what do you want from me?
another Altars? another Winter's Breath?
Wherever I begin just feels like nothing but the same
I ramble and tame my tongue, I fearlessly write my thoughts
just to cower at perceived consequence,
It's not the danger that worries me,
I just don't have the energy to explain anything.
And that thought of having to endure a passing person's narrative
just feels belittling. I'm not in the hopes and dreams department
I'm in the chaos and barely breathing catalogue
You might want to find solace somewhere else
because here Love
It's all "Non Serviam"