I am no more like you,
than you are like me.
I am one,
be it one of many.
Of too many who know no end.
Whither and die in a suspended state.
I drag through another day,
while time marches by.
I am of old,
I am controlled
by that which consumes me.
I run, I fear, I rejoice, I cry.
I am reminded by remorse of a better time.
A time that shall always be out of focus.
A time that forever shall be a distant memory.
Seek not a solution,
but rather a hostile end to a torn soul.
