2261
The weak
Sledder
Sleepless nights await me, as the memories of the past flash before my eyes. Taunting me of that night, when I was vulnerable, and weak-hearted.  years later, it still haunts me, much more then it mocks me, revelation after revelation, the longest muses all lead to one conclusion. It wasn't my fault; I wasn't asking for it. The chronicle of the dark ages of my life; repression and regression shadow it. Lit candles in the pitch black comfort me, but the reckless winds keep ousting it. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be. Visions tattered with gory images scream out to me; reprisal is necessary, much so then the well-being of the soul. For it bathes the soul in a false sense of calamity. The birds sing of treason on a cold summer night, tears escape flowing smoother then the route of slave ships bound to the promised land.