UntitledThe stress within me follows my every move,
Throughout these troubled times I see myself as a faint shadow of whom I used to be
Yet in other times I see myself as nothing but a failure to the place from which I come
Not a day goes by that I even look to myself as someone of any value yet I manage to make it through these days just scraping by hoping for the the faintest whiff of what lies over these next hills for they are clouded in a mist full of hatred and despair. I want to enter it, to feel it, for it to consume my entire being. Yet pressing forward in such a manner is not who I truly am.
I must stand my ground and walk this shadowed path winding slowly through the swamps and the trees. A jungle at times it almost feels, but at other times it appears to be quite empty. Like there really isn't anything there that can do me any real harm.