Lies a soul, unanchored, struggling to believe.
A void expands, consuming light, consuming glee,
Leaving nothing but echoes of what used to be.
"There's nothing left of you to like," a whisper in the night,
A ghostly murmur, fading, deprived of might.
"There's nothing left of you to love," a deeper, darker plea,
A heart once vibrant, now bound in apathy.
"There's nothing left to you for anything," the silence roars,
A desolate confession, from within closed doors.
It's a darkness, relentless, that takes without giving,
Eroding the essence, my joy of living.
Piece by peace, it disassembles my core,
Leaving a husk, barely recognizable anymore.
Bit by bit, the darkness feasts, unkind,
Devouring hope, leaving despair behind.
Until succumbing seems the only path to tread,
In this relentless night, where light has fled.
I remember, when within the deepest, darkest night,
There was the potential for dawn, a sliver of light.
Now my journey is fraught, the climb steep,
No more strength within, not even a spark to keep.
For now I live in the void, where shadows dance,
Nothing more than a burden, not worth a second glance.
I held on, though the darkness did consume,
With no more strength to dispel the gloom.
For within the nothing, there's something true,
Nothing left but anger and hate, this death is all because of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment