From a withered base

One persons past and the outlook of the future

From a withered base I had sprung, I voyage to a withered end. Instead of flying I crawl towards withered end. There is no place to conceal myself, no place to rejuvenate for what comes. Using barbed hooks embedded in my soul memories of the past follow close and are inescapable. Each memory in times turn makes all this plausible and inevitable. This is not fates doing it is the very nature of myself.