In a manner of speaking,
I guess you could say I'm at a loss.
A part of myself not yet met creeping,
the bridges i've burnt trying to get across.

The land we meet on spoilt and barren,
No trees or fertile soil here.
My foe before me stands nonchalant, inhuman,
No sign of a whimper, No seep of a tear.

The very beginning of my journey was broken,
A dishonest and foul way to start.
This stalemate wreaks with truths unspoken,
Like the decaying stench of your closed off heart.