Wounds.

Each wound tells a different story,
some of where I've lost all glory.
This heart remains still,
simply waiting to be killed.
My shadow is simply a fragment,
of what I previously was.
Happiness, compassion,
all that is gone now.
Life its self is ending,
slowly, but surely, it is slipping.
No doubt fills me today,
for I know, that I will be fine.
From now on, its only me.