The weight of the world, a leaden cloak, settles upon my shoulders.
Each breath a labored sigh, each step a dragging march.
The gears of ambition, once whirring with a vibrant hum,
now grind to a halt, their metal teeth worn down to dust.

It's not a decision, not a choice made with a clear mind.
Rather, a slow, inexorable erosion, a tide washing away
the remnants of hope, leaving only a desolate shore.
The fight, once a burning ember, now a mere flicker,
threatened by the encroaching darkness.

Each sunrise feels like a cruel mockery,
a blatant reminder of the relentless passage of time.
Time I wasted, time I squandered, time that slipped through
my grasping fingers, a precious commodity lost forever.
I see the ghosts of what could have been, spectral figures
haunting the periphery of my consciousness, taunting me
with the hollow echo of their unrealized potential.

The world spins on, indifferent to my despair.
People smile, laugh, carry on, while my soul lies dormant,
a parched wasteland devoid of life and color.
I am a solitary figure, adrift in a vast ocean of indifference,
a fading whisper in the symphony of existence.

And so, I concede. I surrender to the inevitable.
No longer will I wage a futile battle against the current.
I will let myself be swept away, carried to the depths
of oblivion, where the shadows embrace me, whispering
the sweet, seductive lullaby of oblivion.

But even in this surrender, there lies a faint glimmer
of hope, a fragile tendril reaching towards the surface.
Perhaps, in the depths of my despair, I might find
a flicker of resilience, a spark of defiance,
a chance to rise again from the ashes of my own undoing.
Perhaps, but for now, I am consumed by the abyss,
a prisoner of my own self-imposed exile.



© matthewwwebster