Cycle

The ugly head rears.No torment can match this awareness,Better to be self ignorant.Dark clouds gathering,Filling recess’s of mind,Oozing and seeping, overshadowing.Smothering thoughts with apathetic mucilage,Soul numbing fugue.Ripping away colour thought,Revealing ceaseless pointlessness of existence,Grey wastes of life.A futility of action and inaction,Mixing apathy and loathing of the gestalt.Two little islands of worth remain.Built of Dark Angel bones and feathers.Two distant embers of warmth,In the long sable night.A third drawing near.If viewed a little opaquely,Through the dank, foul, cloying feelings.Hollow attempts of escape from self,Using joy, anger, distraction, pain,Cycle’s further darkness.Feedback loop perpetuating misery,Aching longing begins.For an end of it all.To end it, finish it.Be done.