In old worn-out lines we gather to collect dust phased only by our recollections of what never was meant to be.
I have come to terms with the emptiness that resides within us all.
Hollowed out is the shell is but a point.
It's standing merely a display.

Weathered hands broken egos have we all not felt the burn and then been left cold by yet another winters rain?
Old songs over bridges of memory some more weathered than others.

Deception leads to bitterness thoughts merely plague my reality.
Loneliness leads to weakness but I haven't found a better route yet.

The wolves howl hauntingly in the distance is my thoughts bleed trapped within this prison of reflection.
I'm far from over but don't let the rest of the ******* know that.

The reader is but a viewer to another man's soul, lurking within the confines of safety and warmth.
True depth is experienced never read.

Sometimes we all fall down my friends.