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The ring on my finger,
Grows worn with age,
Scratches emerage,
The shine, so dull.

Not much I can do,
With lack of inspiration,
Not caring for it's luster,
More decayed over time.

Everytime I look back at it,
It only gets worse,
I can barely now see,
My once vibrant reflection.

What left is there to do,
Other than discard such a memory?
I guess that's what I'll do,
Too frail to buff again, any way.