A Shadow of Myself

Day after day, I see the same old shadow.
Misguided and distrusting.
Another side of me, locked in a coffin six feet deep.
Yet a silhouette still chases me.
Tormenting my peripheral vision, has the Reaper come to stalk my doorstep?
My back is against a wall; my hands have grown far too numb to climb it.
Rough and calloused.
I have caved into a trap of my own making and now I’m shrouded in darkness.
Shackles tamed against my bones as I’ve lost control.
It’s getting harder to breathe in this mask I’ve worn for ages.
Each and every breath lies frozen inside my chest.
An epitaph of sorts has been screaming out my name;
“Here lies an unfortunate being, all torn and battered.”
I am not myself nor have I been for a while.
A shadow of who I used to be haunts whatever is left of me.
The Reaper has crept into my line of sight and my eyes have grown wary.
This eerie feeling of isolation and silence has invaded my presence.
When will I be set free, from this prison I’ve built with my unwarranted hatred?
This is just an hallucination, never mind these shackles.
The only thing I see now, is a shadow of myself.
Hurting and desperate.