Forgotten

As I tread in vivid fields of black and gray,
I search, listless, endless for some other way,
To end this cycle of open decay, decadent, lost within a vanquished sense of frail hope.
Clinging to the memories, like a child who has become some man, yet forlorn, searching throughout time for a reason to define, senseless, a loss that cannot be redeemed.
Here I stand, alone and content, for this life is of my creation, we are what we choose to be.
If only I could stop wishing to be anyone, anything, else but me.