Diet of Despair

I lie in a pool of my own sweat. It’s clammy dew plasters strands of brown hair on my pale cheek. I am striped, marked, and drowning in self-despair. 

I fought hard at first, my face painted for battle, as I bellowed with a newfound miraculous determination to defeat all ills; After all effort is needed for stunning results. I surged towards the enemy, my claws cutting, and my lips pursed, I was ready to take all by storm...and I did.

Glorious is the past.

Now I have retired here, as my desire doesn’t even put up a good fight before fading away as a sad, distant memory. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t breath...I am trapped within my own mind. It clings possessively to my brain, grabbing my heart with both hands, and squeezing me dry.Dehydrated of ambition, I long to feel it’s hungering metallic taste trickle through my heavy sighs, onto my lifeless tongue. I bite hard, but feel nothing. My ashen lips are now washed crimson, but my skin is yet lifeless in waste. Deprived of all sparks, I gleam in moist desperation... hoping, and praying that tomorrow I will be better ready for war.