At times, I wonder when the agony will stop; if I deserve a new life, one where the twinkling of starlight and a cool breeze, gently scented of pine and life will become enough to calm my angry, tortured soul. Mistreated and abused, unable to relax and move forward toward the light that I can see with darkened eyes, and yet I cannot reach toward it with my bloody fingers (your blood is not welcome here, my love), unable to rest, wandering endless pathways alone, in the dark where the only scent upon the air is death and destruction, lost love and faded glory, dreams left for an existence that demands so very little feeling and life, as the requirements to be met here are the frail numbness that echoes my heart. Shattered and broken, I walk alone.