Fate's Opponent

The life of me, the emptiness where ghosts boast of surplus. Half of me is void, quarter is silence, and the other quarter is careless. Questions end with question marks, mine with periods. When the given cannot be repelled, reasons are moot.

They say, "There could be light at the end of the tunnel," and to my surprise, there was, but it was a mere lantern at a dead end. My villain became the sun, and I grew to hate the moon. The sun ascends luminous, fooling me of hope, but behind it are spaces of nothingness. The moon is the sly lurker, even its light it doesn't own, and with it, it beholds my fade, emotionless.

I was never meant to hold a grudge, flourish gloom or wither belief, but when fate hammers others with harsh judgments, it brings the sledgehammer on me. I sometimes laugh, emotionally bruised and internally torn, you cannot hammer the flat anymore or crush the grind any finer. Rejuvenated by suffering, elated by miseries.

Fate's toughest opponent is me, someone who died inside.

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