The thoughts wander within the caverns of my mind endlessly haunting me like lost ghosts in the wilderness. Sleep escapes me as I am ever aware of so many things that torture my heart with memories-real and imagined. I have lost track of the real and the unreal, for I don`t know the difference any more. I question my sanity. I tear the thoughts out one by one from the fabric of my spirit-as each memory removes my lifeblood drop by drop as I purposefully mangle my soul. The pain is agonizing, yet it is soothing. The rawness, the ache, the torture of my spirit is so welcoming, it is almost ecstasy. What pleasure is there in this pain? What joy in this suffering? What strange sensation is this? Why do I feel so? What paradox? What game of the gods is this as they play this eternal chess? Never can peace be allowed to live.
I wonder what life remains in the soul when all of of its content is wrung out like a piece of laundry. Its very last drop of its life blood drained. Does anything remain of its original spirit? Of its heart? Of its life? Or it simply ceases to be. All of its existence erased from the memory of the world. Yes-even its very shadow of its being. But then why all? Why exist at all if nothing remains?
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