Primordial Retirement.

I've said a lot of things,
Using the same tired words.
Dusty similes repeated.
Aged metaphors uttered.
Emaciated phrases examined.
Repetitive thoughts of a sleepy poet.
Sarcastic written progession.
Familiar rhyme schemes,
Half-assed allusions.
I'm not even trying.
Is this why I started?
So I can end up like this?
More apathy than ink.
Bleeding in the water.
Inspiration down the drain.
I lost the fire.
Lost my edge.
Honestly, I lost it all.
I'm giving up.
For once I quit.
I'm backing out,
fading back into the crowd.
The phantom overexposed,
overextended,
and now returns to the void.