Long time

for more than a year i wasted myself
i stopped doing the things i liked
i didn't write anything forget about publishing
i did not read even a single book ... the lone book i started never got finished ..
i stopped playing.. lived like a hog.. slept with marred dreams.. disinterested.. dis illusoned
time was standstill, as if the hourglass was broken . and now as i write, words fail me, logic defies me, reason has lost me and i go back again in trance hallucinating about what could have and what can never be
but
i am glad to live all over again
PS: sorry keats the last line i stole from you