Dying inside, alone.
Unable to sleep.
As questions of "why?"
Eat my Soul's flesh to it's bones.
Older and more uglier.
Where have I gone?
In life?
Spinning my wheels, drowning.
In quicksands as I stare at the blade of a knife.
I fight my impulses to end the struggling of the soul's pain.
It seems as if I only get to talk at myself.
Nobody has stayed around me
Enough during these days
I have been fed up.
Enough to bleed.
My heart lies sick of being dusty on the shelf.
Always putting myself and my light on the "back burner"
in order to warm up some one else's left overs.
This ghost of the soul shall be all that will be left
After being this "invisible ghost"
Unsought after or summoned
I freeze to the cold of more time
In this "prison"
Locked up. Never to fore fill my potential.
Or to finish this "Bucket List."
The end of this misery needs to end
Before the end of my living visions.