my life's like a flame, holding on for dear life. Every part of me aches, begging me to push through, but part of me cries, telling me it's hopeless. Even when I know it's wrong, I listen to that part of me. The one that wants to kill me. The one seeking to harm me. I only live because the cold embrace of death is far too uncomforting. Cold and lifeless.
What is one to do when joy becomes only a distant dream, a dream too far off from reality, a dream that is dead and buried with no hope of revival. The lack of joy leaves an empty hole in my heart, a hole I fill with things that could never matter. A hole I fill with regret and sorrow. But it never fills the hole. Just passes through it, as if crossing a bridge.
I breathe, walk and talk, yet somehow I feel not alive. It's as if nothing even matters. Like walking dead. Walking around aimlessly, eating everything in my path but never satisfied. What is satisfaction but a feeling of completion that comes just before emptiness. What are you to do now? You've completed your task. What is left for you after the war?
Nothing. Just a dizzy emptiness. Everything you've ever loved has left you alone, loneliness becomes your only friend.