And then, nothing

Everyday my life shrinks.

Or: my life shrinks.

Each living generation condenses.
Folds unto itself. Into oblivion; into puny and irretrievable gestures of its former self.

New dimensions.

Each day becomes smaller.
Becomes minute.

Everything I stood for becomes a symbol.
Loses power and hope.
Everything I hoped and yearned becomes an empty loose thread.
Nothing to hold on to.
Flailing like a discarded spool.

Every day I am used and dipped like an instrument.

Losing feeling.

Retreating into the wilderness.

It was nice while it lasted.

Devoured by these cold hands.