Unworthy

I can't feel my blood running trough my veins, I can't see myself in the mirror, I can't live with all this pain. This weigh in my shoulders is to heavy for me to continue trough this path of life with it. Because my soul is grey, my heart is black and I can't walk in the green grass of my life. My garden of life has been burned. The trees that were there, standing tall and strong, are now ashes. Ashes of a life once so happy and proud to live. But no more. I have no more reasons to continue to fight that fire that is burning me inside.
My soul is grey. Once more I whisper it in the cold night of the unforgiven winter, laying in my bed, with no one to comfort me for the bad times that are approaching and the grey and rain clouds that are over my head. The truth jumps from my mouth and travels to my ear. It makes me remember my youth, those good moments, long ago finished. But they died as I am. But why? Why won't you let me simply die? Because I'm sick of the pain, I'm sick of fighting, I'm sick of living. I think that life isn't anything worthy to fight for. And I'm unworthy to even bring a fist up to defend myself from what it may bring against me. Once I tried but never more.
My body wants to feel the mortal pain, wants to feel that pain that is so much little than the pain I feel now. Because my pain isn't material, it isn't human, it is from my soul that is being scared for my own sacrifices. But still it doesn't scream in the middle of the night. It doesn't complain. It's unnatural, it's inhuman, it's unworthy. Unworthy to give a little bit of love because it cannot feel it. To much has reached me and not much more is coming. Nothing more to fight or live for.
Give a light in the dark because I can't see and I'm unworthy to fight for...

Unworthy to fight,
consumed by this fire,
no hope in my sight,
only pain brought by that fire.