Inked Sins

In the quiet hours
My pen finds its purpose
A companion against the solitude.

Loneliness creeps in
Not born of absence
But of a chasm that words cannot bridge.

Words linger
Unspoken
A secret weight upon my soul.
What is it that I long to share?
A question I cannot answer.

This is my current state
A melancholy I cannot escape.
A sense of disconnection
A profound uncertainty.

I am a stranger to myself
A puzzle with missing pieces.
Perhaps this is who I have become
A wanderer lost in the labyrinth of self.

I am sweet to some
Perplexing to others.
I am both a whirlwind of energy
And a quiet observer.
A chameleon adapting to the surroundings.

Perhaps this is who I am now-
A paradox.
Existing between always and never.
Caught between reality and illusion.
I exist in a liminal space.
A traveller between worlds.