A Life Without Joy

I am in no particular hurry to get to the other side, even with the stress and drain each day places upon my mind and body and soul and spirit.

Each night a bit of me dies. Not just due to age, but like many, to forces far beyond control. There are some mornings, like this one, I wake, and feel another step closer to meeting di inferi. 

It is not in my make-up to hasten the inevitable, however, when it comes, I think, it will be welcomed. 

Life has been a living hell. I have been used and oppressed. Fidelity, trust and loyalty has been taken for granted, exploited and ground under heel. 

The past holds the only times of any joy. 

The present is dark, light is repelled.

The future, ominously bleak. 

Damaged, and nearly broken, each day passes. Each step keeps pace with life’s treadmill. No particular hurry, because there is no hope to move forward to any particular destination – well, none but the one that awaits us all.

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