burnt out; i’m tired, running on adrenaline to build up something that’s been built so highly i can’t manage it any longer. people call it a passion, something to be admired and envied and celebrated until it dried up. the energy has run out – the magic has gone, evaporated into a mist of grandeur and schemes.
i’m bored, quizzing myself existentially: if i’m not doing that for which i’m known, who am i? what is left for me to do?
people make too much of me, make me seem like i’m something more than i am just for following something. they speak too often and too eagerly; anything less on my part becomes a let-down and i am shrunk back down to size, next move anticipated.
the spotlight is back in place; so am i, and so the new scheme is to shrink down the plans.
(they call it passion)