fading from the canvas

lean, dry and weak,
i'm facing the inevitable answers of long haunting fleshy riddiles.

i regret now,
on the face of this dark canvas,
slowly dimmimg down
as my weak physique no more attracts birds or flowers

blame time which makes us take all the roles,
of an idealist,
of an optimist,
of a philosopher,

and at last, a loser.


things i always booed at,are defeating me.