I've spent all my days looking on to tomorrow, but now it doesn't make a difference.

All my days are endless, empty, and there's nothing left to hold onto.

I can't stop myself from wondering:

Is it better to be remembered, ridiculed,

Remembered, despised?

Or is it better to just be forgotten?

 

I reach inside myself for something of worth, and my fingers close on cold, thin air.

I whisper to myself "tomorrow", but secretly I know that there is nothing there.

I've been cut open, dissected.

Mocked and rejected.

And I don't know if it's better to push on in my mediocrity,

Or to resign myself to the fact that I will never be enough.

 

I delve inside, focus on the things I think I'm good at.

I waste my days dreaming,

Until I'm nothing more than a hollow shell,

A façade.

If I took it away, what would be left?

 

I'm pushing through a fog of doubt.

And as soon as I think I've found something, it's gone before I can be sure.

The ghostly scenes of what could have been appear before my eyes.

Taunting me, 

Haunting me.

 

There is no hope for the future, and it looms over me like a dark cloud.

Like the shadow of a predator, ready to pounce,

Ready to kill.

I am helpless against my own imagination. 

I shrink into the shadows as my personal demons of doubt and despair lurk nearby.

My candle has burnt out and I stumble along blindly.

No one to guide me.

 

Smiling voices surround me and grate on my nerves.

Darkness fills my life as the world outside slowly becomes darker and colder.

The sun may come out tomorrow, but I will never see it.

I have been pushed into oblivion and tomorrow...

Tomorrow has lost its luster.