Sometimes I look back

I just opened up a ditch no one can ever fill but Myself
With the dirt that is my lifeless carcass.
Looking back on things long past, have no one ever considered stabbing you in the back of thy neck?
The hatred of younger’s past afflicted by the possibilities of tomorrow yet when all things considered and done, why has death not befallen history?

Have the dead been buried? What then could it be that crawls up one’s spine to tear out the structure of strength, confidence and hope. Had emptiness, self-hatred been the only depths in life’s baseless reasoning? Why then do I still continue to fight the tedious battle? What then is the war within me?

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