Posterophobia

Suffocating in words of yesterday, I continue without will to live, without hope, these two I have long since lost, perished by my blind mistakes, those ancient decisions that continue to linger, and that I continue to feed in an attempt to recreate animated versions of a romantic tale, as passionate as it may be, it remains fiction none the less.


And so I painfully begin to realize that life persists without a visible summit, and this eternal mountain can never be high enough to see beyond the horizon of tommorow, and with much difficulty, beyond the dark haze of yesterday.

Hopeless, I climb and fall and climb again, fueled only by the fear of turning back.