It always seems that whenever I reach out to touch something, I end up always getting hurt. A fragile being, yet hard on the outside, baked to hard perfection from scarring events. There is rarely a beam of sunlight, a ray of hope, that penetrates the dark gloomy sky. It is always raining, always dark, always despair, always hopelessness. Perseverence has long withered away, there is no such thing that exists. Instead, trudging on like a lone wolf, the only thing I await, is the end.