I tread a path with no end to the line.
I deceive myself into relishing the voyage, for I’m scared.
I keep staggering and I’m weary of getting up every time.
I’m filled with despair.
I’m dying in a skirmish not worth fighting for.
I hold on but my hands are insensate.
I rue the fact that my hopes die, while I breathe in this war.
I’m filled with hate.
I’m being swallowed by darkness, jaded, seeking a glow.
The grail I crave, strays further away from me.
I squander around, knowing it’s not worth the show.
I’m filled with melancholy.
© An Unknown Wanderer