For all the things we have suffered. For all the things I have done... We are here again. What is it about the fight that compels it to go on? Why is it that when we cross one road, climbed over hurdles, endured the coldest winters, that the other side isn't the place for serenity; the place of solace--and a place where we can all consider the time to rest. But on the either side it's either more challenges or the daunting ghosts of the past comes back; the one you thought you brought to peace.
One would think.
A vehement poison that we thought we have left behind. An acrid presence that we have all decided to leave behind and only come to when the situation dictated... a thing of the past that we thought have no bearings is now back again to encumber.
Who brought it back?
What do you do when one is forced to fight again against the very apparition that was thought to be laid to rest? What if one is enthralled, enticed, and engulfed in its poison yet again? What if one decides that it's not poison but a feeling of respite, remedy, and substitution?
Then I abandon my will to fight and find the one thing that was worth it in the past.
I'm not fighting this anymore when the one I'm fighting for is the one fighting me. When my own attempts are thwarted by the very one whom you thought helped you laid it all to rest. When the one defends the very essence of nefarious and undying perversion against my own is a crystal clear testament that the battle was over a long time ago.
When it's said and done the wounds and scars are now inflicted; the marks are dejecting and certainly enough to dilute the honor that we all held together.
I can't fight it anymore. I can't do it anymore. This is no longer my own.
There is no victory here. There are only more regrets and the longing for what couldn't have been. The years have produced far more sullen clouds than sunshine that one truly has to measure the meaning of fighting for it once more.
There is no victory here; only MORE senseless fighting.
One would think.
A vehement poison that we thought we have left behind. An acrid presence that we have all decided to leave behind and only come to when the situation dictated... a thing of the past that we thought have no bearings is now back again to encumber.
Who brought it back?
What do you do when one is forced to fight again against the very apparition that was thought to be laid to rest? What if one is enthralled, enticed, and engulfed in its poison yet again? What if one decides that it's not poison but a feeling of respite, remedy, and substitution?
Then I abandon my will to fight and find the one thing that was worth it in the past.
I'm not fighting this anymore when the one I'm fighting for is the one fighting me. When my own attempts are thwarted by the very one whom you thought helped you laid it all to rest. When the one defends the very essence of nefarious and undying perversion against my own is a crystal clear testament that the battle was over a long time ago.
When it's said and done the wounds and scars are now inflicted; the marks are dejecting and certainly enough to dilute the honor that we all held together.
I can't fight it anymore. I can't do it anymore. This is no longer my own.
There is no victory here. There are only more regrets and the longing for what couldn't have been. The years have produced far more sullen clouds than sunshine that one truly has to measure the meaning of fighting for it once more.
There is no victory here; only MORE senseless fighting.
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