Monday, 18 March 2013


Dark tendrils, melancholy black
Holding, tightening, gripping.
Their insidious embrace
Seeping the last vestiges of hope.
Soul, dessicated.
Cast alone in a dark maelstrom of torment.
The infinite depths of betrayal
Their clawing mists drawing the very essence of life.
A husk remains
A mere avatar to what once was.
A distorted reflection
A plaintive cry
A sense of nothing
A will. Lost.
Where am I?
Who am I?
What am I?

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