My Brittle Soul

I feel empty.

Void of life,

Impotent before my own inadequacy.

I am a false god,

Unable to create.

I sculpt,

Mold,

And form the vessel,

But when I breathe

Only death blows forth.

The shell dries,

Parched,

Grows brittle,

Cracks.

Reduced to naught

But bits & pieces…

Like my very soul.