To my Mother and my Father,
Both of whom where never there.
Disowned me when I turned sixteen,
Abandoned without care.
And so for you I leave behind
A black world full of hate
For you to twist and torment in -
All for you is desolate.
To my Brother or my Sister,
Aunt, Uncle and Cousin too,
You simply just ignored me,
Said "There's nothing we can do".
You sat upon the sidelines,
And you all just stared on in;
Watched me spiral downward;
Get swallowed up in Sin.
To my 'friends', you User Bastards,
Who were there to bleed me dry!
I was there when I was needed,
When you were needed, you'd just fly!
To you I give my nothing,
'Cos it's just not good enough!
What else can you take from me?
I'm six foot down, I've no more stuff.
I now write to my girlfriend,
The only one to care.
You watched me like a shadow,
When you were needed, you were there.
My sole and perfect lover,
The one who took my breath,
For you I give eternity,
You join me now in death.
It feels weird looking back at all this now... Wish I could still write like that...
i'm sure you still can, creativity doesn't just vanish.. talents always remain somewhere within..
I'd say it can vanish... At least, it seems to here...
Or at least taken a leaf out of Energy's book and just converted itself into a new, as of yet undiscovered, form? I'd prefer that to losing it completely; but I don't hold my breath.
The talent isn't gone, the talent is either not used or used in different ways, like you said
Romanian? Such a sweet country, the origins of the vampire legends, and such a beautifully dark language.