The Outsider

For the outsider, the tether frays,

No meaning clings, no god to praise.

It drifts through nights of hollow grace,

To wake alone with that same face.

The mirror mocks with deadened eyes,

A ghost beneath unfaithful skies.

Dark clouds like demons twist and crawl,

And press like weight against the soul.

It seeks a hand, a voice, a name,

But every whisper ends the same.

In echoes cold, in silence vast,

A future chained unto the past.

The heart once burned with fleeting fire,

Now vacant, leeched of all desire.

A cavern where no light can dwell,

A pulse that ticks the tune of hell.

No roots to grasp, no soil to stay,

Just shifting dust and feet of clay.

Uncertainties like serpents slide,

And wrap around what's left inside.

A leash of flame, a grin of bone,

It drags the soul through lands unknown.

And still it walks, this cursed shell,

Half in the world, half cast in hell.

Its name is lost, its story torn,

Forgotten like a thing unborn.

It watches joy from far, unseen,

Behind a veil no blade can clean.

Each step it takes is not its own,

But driven by a will unknown.

Some force that feeds on broken breath,

A pact it made with pain and death.

It once cried out beneath the trees,

But answers came as mockeries.

It learned to smile with broken teeth,

And stitched its grief in lines beneath.

Now silence is its only friend,

A songless hymn that will not end.

The outsider, forever cursed,

To wander worlds that came reversed.