The weary part of my soul is laughing as I fall one more time into a bottomless pit of my own devising. Hope is no longer some abstract concept. It is a cardinal direction, like east or west, and most of the time, I'm not sure which way is up. What is hope but some direction I'm not facing? I could fall forever and still despair of reaching the bottom.

With each piece of my heart crumbling like dry bone, like earth meal to the worm, I can't help but ask what is going to be left, what is still me, and what is merely the vacuous gas byproduct of an evaporating soul. I have memories of dreaming of shining like the sun, of lighting the world afire, but I no longer dare to dream, and now even the memories are fading. Everything I was is likely to never be, and I am like ash, spent and scattered to the wind.

It has long ceased to be a question of going on. No matter how I dig my heels into the rocky ground, I am dragged to my doom against my will, left to be trampelled by Fate.

Will there be no end to my sorrow?