Loss of Inspiration

In the abyss of the deep, only grey matter reflected.
My breath was swept away by a witch's broom.
Secrets of dust were under a rug.
Astonishment took over like a surprise.
Magical, a flying carpet goes over my head, like deception.
The spell of time enthralled me with its flickering eminence of expiration.
My candle was hidden and about to burn out.
Hands on the wall, 6 o'clock, my attention was arrested.
Straight up and down, a power broadcast.
The thief in the night came and ransacked.
   
My captivated spirit.
Creative virtue in my morality and conscience is gone.
My heart becomes melancholic lachrymose.
Sorrow in my thoughts, words, and actions.
Demons tricked my mind so idle, it's an intense question.
Longing for my lost identity, I tried to see.
I try to reassemble the art within me.
The fire burning inside of me was smoldering.
Tears underneath, the burning books dampened the air.
Choking respiration.
   
Vacuous temperance.
Cold, sparce, barren, then empty.
Suggestion becomes removed, voided.
The canvas of my imagination, endlessly dark.
Space upon space, as I found no solidarity in motion to ground myself.
Twisted, warping, shrouded expansion.
Through the hallowed echos.
Far beyond, past tohubohu.
Uncertainty served as the torture of trying to remember.
Forgotten dreams, when immediate vision is woken to reflect.
   
There is wicked unrest in trying to find semblance.
Stirring up what was underneath, chaotic, confused depth-perception.
Everything changing, wonder feigning.
Amassed concentration.
Mystique became a turbulent blackhole.
Inquisitive intrigue, nullified to nothing.
No way to escape this gravity.  
Fallen through, weighing situation.
No rabbit hole, nor coming back.
Oblivion, struggle.
   
Profound like-comparison and literal meaning blended together.
Only the proof of skulls and snakes in my failure to conceive.
Mind separated from heart.
Lobbying and catering, physical, carnal mortality.  
Rather than forgive, accuse with fact.
Hold someone responsible and accountable.
Point a finger, hide a mirror.
Dullard standards.
Sensed in any setting.
No absolution of life, innocence, freedom, truth, and purpose.
   
Eloquent luminaries, perplexed.
Loquacious language, lacking.
Choosing to surrender, I give into it.
The subjugation of reality and insanity.
The thought police handcuff my decision and will.
Remind me that I only know one color, when I gaze.
It's the same as the prison cell of my ambition.
I am In between, nowhere.
Acceptance of infinite resolution, impossible.
Loss of inspiration.