My soul is weak ..  a lot weaker then it should be ..

 I have been ravaged by the vultures of time

I have been damaged

I have been destroyed

My soul has been ransacked, pillaged

my soul has been slashed open

gashed open by the wolves

who take pleasure in draining my life substance

by the vultures

who take pleasure in my pain

The shreds of my soul hang loosely in the wind

They limply flop in the cold winds of time

Ready for the next barbarian to come by and eat what’s they feel is theirs

The pieces of my life sway carelessly in the wind

the scent of my weakness is carried recklessly through the storm of life

Soul shattering threads hanging loosely

Droplets of my life force dripping into pools

How has my soul gone this far and not fall apart?

How has my soul carried on?

Why hasn’t a she wolf gone by and snatch what is left  to feed her young?

Feeding ….

Its what we all do …

We feed on one another ….

We sniff out the vulnerable

We use the venerable for our own sick and twisted pleasure …

We mock the vulnerable behind their their face

WE get a sick thrill seeing what we create…

The vulnerable like me

The vulnerable that has been torn again

And again …

And again ….

The vulnerable like me, our ripped soul’s that dangle in the wind giving off the scent of life

We are sought out …we are snuffed out

Then the attacks come ….

The shreds that are hanging ..the soul that is just hanging on …for one more day more hope

Shattered .

False likes…false hopes…

the fake …

Are used to make the vulnerable believe

Then when there is hope

When there is a hope to dream

The hope to live

The soul is slashed open again revealing the tattereness inside

The soul is scratched, gashed letting the life-force out once again

A soul that is destroyed is once again left in the cold wind giving off the scent of its defenselessness

How much longer can a soul be resistant?

How much longer till the wolves come?

A soul that is so shattered that prefers to be eaten

To be put out of its misery?

How much longer till the vultures come and claim their piece of the battle?

A conflicted soul….

A soul that will trudge on …

A soul even though is ragged

A soul that even though it is tattered

Will trudge on …

The vultures may circle and swoop every now and then

The wolves that snarl and bite and chew the meager piece that they have claim is theirs

This frayed, ragged, tattered, shredded, soul will march on.


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