To dwell upon the past
And be forlorned.
Forlorned at finding
Nothing more than
An ending of life
And of a liveliness
Long since dead,
Never to be awakened again. Suffocated by the
Putrid scent of
Self deprecation,
Which permeates so profoundly,
All that exists is
Misery, hate and spite,
In a now blackened heart;
An aberration created from within. A growing monstrosity that encompasses
The very soul, like a cancerous black tumor,
Does it feed from the emptiness
That lingers deep inside.
Until there is only
The bitter cold left,
An open gateway to a
Never-ending life of death.