Against the current tide I go.
Becoming what? I don't know.
Cunning words cut to the core,
Dragging down the soft
Energy of one's empty soul.
Fathomless in cycle, a
Gale of bitterness blows: but still I go.
Hiding from the wind, and
Isolated from survivors.
Jesting at worries, but
Knowing that there will always be a
Longing to live when there was
More to live up to.
None will know where there should have been
Openness to the pain,
Placating the desire to
Quomodocunquize what is not ours.
Remaining unchanged will
Supplicate to the
Terrorizing world, teaching the
Unguarded mind to fear.
Vulnerable to much, there are more
Wanweirds finding their ways to
Xerophagy and suicide
Yearning to go back to safety.
Zatetic hearts might survive.