Do you suppose there is a time in our life that we find ourselves abandoned by our own thoughts, and all the thoughts we have become those of a crying person, somewhere lost, when we close our eyes? What happens to those of us who can't find our way back. Those of us who have lost our other half of the soul we once had. Do we ever get that soul back? is there any more hope for any of us, or are we just dulled down more and more by the expectiations that our fellow peers have of us. Drawn down into the deep black corner where no one and nothing can reach us. Dulled down until at last we reach the bottom and though there is a saying that when you reach the very bottom the only way you can go is up, we find ourselves not going up but sinking lower into that our destiny. Our destiny to be broken and alone. We find no comfort in our neighbors, or in the things that we once loved. We fear being alone at night sometimes for fear of what more we could possibly do to ourselves. We fear the morning becuase with morning comes another night, and we find ourselves once more facing the dark, cold night alone. Finding no comfort in our dreams, and no comfort to the rising moon or dawning sun.
We have time to think of those we have lost and betrayed. Those who have left, and are leaving little by little. We have time to think about the ways our lives have been screwed up, and screwed over. We have time to think about what will happen tomorrow, the decissions we have made and those we will make in the future. What night would be complete without them I suppose. No longer is a night so carefree so relieved of the stress that day brings. We worry that sleep brings only nightmares, those to which we can not escape unless to waken the morning after only to find ourselves in another. The world dragging us further into the depth of which we find ourselves not able to return from. We find that with each passing breath the pain in our hearts grows stronger and more and more the pieces of our souls, to which we have left, begins to break off, and seperate. Gone to find a happier life another which can be fed upon. That which no longer lives so deep in ones body, that which does not possess the darkness that has eaten away, that which has survived the night with no nightmares, and that which the day becomes the smiles and the songs of spring or whatever thoughts that would make that one happy.
what the body is left with is what the body chooses to be left with, have a soul or none at all. The people who once have seen us look about for us as if we have vanished in front of them. Caven in ourselves and dying with no hope. And for a minute those who deem themselves worthy become enlightened by the very talent of hope, and find themselves grabbing and holding tight to the very strings of it. Slowly the soul can be rebuilt as the people once again see the figure forming from the dark silloette, and no more is the soul without hope, and no more is it tearing away, for now the soul more and more is coming back to the person who needed it most. For those fortunate souls. For those who live the rest of their days loving life, and living to love.
The not so lucky ones, so deep within their belief that they are without desire and love. Those who feel they have ruined what thy hold so deer to. Those who sink below the ways of the world. They find themselves wasting away day after day, and fading in front of everyone, and the days become the darkest and the nights become the coldest. What seperates one from the other? The dark ones, can they help themselves, is the damage too far done to even try to fix?