Marks Of Existence

Steps of life cannot be budgeted by whims of idle gossip, strong-willed fillings seek acknowledgement even from the grave of departing memories and images. Snared by indecision, allowed to bask there, bringing a truth of lifeless disdain and ignorant ideas to fruition. Nothing can withstand allotments of resentment throughout the years, it tears and claws it's way like a long time cavity into the very heart of personality. Eating it away, eroding every good point that once stayed close within, an open, gaping hole, saturated with salty tears of sadness, wounding the very soul of inner peace. Chances are all gone, a dark stain, a spot, are the only marks of yesterday's existence.