Tortured Soul

Aspiring fully in need trying to thrive. Death by own laying open to fornicate facade in rugged dust. Hollow and vagrant seamlessly stretched limited towards optimism. Fully acknowledging yet fearfully confused, left bowing wretched in dishonesty. Clenching reaction in the wrong lumen. Almost eagerly ready to shed on command. Last moments terror renders stagnant luke warm sensations frequented by following abomination. True is the word of a wise soul; only for reasons of guidance lived. Why cruel realm, why the need to agitate a voyaging soul? Already spewed and lived a million lifetimes; already before endured the self loathing. Maybe in another life; maybe again in another time. Maybe to repeat in vain. All too much for the present still perfect for the plight.