Alternating between cacophony and void,
No assurances bear fruit,
No promises sustain.
I can mask the horror, but not eliminate it.
What nothingness and brokenness lies before me
is all that I may hope to possess,
and there is nothing contained within
that I desire.
Desolate on every front, Abandoned by all (save lip service on occasion;)
None are concerned nor dedicated to my well being;
Even I--the responsible party--shirk the task, inner demons, battle, enemy.
We are all alone, and alone is something I no longer wish to be.
There are four of us here in the rubble,
and only one is a fighter; that's a '1-in-4' chance of
things going well when the shit hits the fan.
Minuscule pleasures are fleeting, ever lessening in intensity
and frequency (conversely pain is more abundant and profound.)
The body fails, the mind rebels, the heart betrays.....
Others might be surprised to know just how firm
the mask has held; how much lay beyond their purview;
I hide it well. People only see
the smallest sliver of the leviathan that looms within.
My enemy resides within.
