0222-23.

The Weakened.

A flash.

A flip.

In a phase it is gone.
Too quickly unseen.

Truth hidden.

Concealed within the darkest mind,
where dreams were never reality.

Spat in the eye,
stinging.
The bloodshot poison.

Insult to injury,
that the injury already sears the heart.

Falling, knees first.
Forced-fed begging.

Eating the thorns,
not the rose.

Battered, bruised and broken.

My flesh torn,
my heart exposed to the inept injection of yours.

But, too late, i've died.
Your last blow,
useless.

I've won.

My words render useless though,
my hand won't lift its blood.
My soul wouldn't rise.
Tied to the grave with the grave on my back.

Now, 24.
You only realise when it's over.
23 left 22.
22 left too soon.