I have flayed my heart with my own hand.
I have burnt my feet, through life's scorching sand.
Blisters riddle my being, it’s a painful affair.
My eyes don't even have to search that far, to chance upon gray hair.

A mere two decades I have lived here.
So much more left to see, yet all of it seems painfully drear.
Or maybe it’s just me that's lifeless.
It’s just my soul that’s sightless.

Oft I have felt the walls of my world collapsing,
Oft I have seen myself shamelessly relapsing.
Why is it that I cannot walk in one direction?
Why do I always lose heart upon closer inspection?

Maybe what’s wrong with me is that I listen,
To the darkness of my mind, against which my dreams glisten.
Maybe I ought to retire,
From a life of choices that are starting to feel like satire.

© wolf’s cub