A Decayed Writer

my thoughts on being a writer, and life i guess.

I am no one.
The antibody seeks refuge in darkness.
A lifetime of teases
hidden in laughter,
smiles and hope,
haunting the being inside.
A reality which decays the mind
riddled with fear of the unknown.
A future of hope manifested,
or a reality rotting beyond the mind
until there's nothing left.
Not a step to ponder
a thought to indulge,
maybe a dream.
A reality which feeds on fear to control,
within a smirk, dance, and feast,
happiness in its true form.
Become unbridled by reality
But only questions lie.
I write to continue the laughter.
Every sentence, word, letter is meaningless
Goes through circles within a hackneyed exit.
Nothing will become of the imagination releasing its soul
upon the world.
Another drink my friends,
Another second within destruction,
the dream shatters on.
Until ashes remain and still try to seek hope.
My words scream for incessant hugs
My body loves a good a fight
My mind clings to a perpetual goodbye
wanting a resolution.