When the light finally fades we lay destroyed, broken and forgotten. The night may have brought peace to those who are not quite dead yet. In the gathering dust those who are too close to death silently slip away; vanishing into the fields of sorrow. Choking, silently, so many will leave. And we must wonder if it is truly better to remain alive when all your cards are up and all your second chances long past used. The few survive and may go on to do great things after this battle, but the victory was bittersweet, the war so far not won.

I have always said it is far better to survive if even in the worst conditions then to succumb to the terrors that surround me. I do not even know my definition of "Better" Perhaps it simply means that the world will remember me more if I survive. Do I want that? Hardly. If anyone remembers me only 20 years after my death Then I would be astounded. I will not live that long anyway. I can feel my death approaching. I always knew I would die young but just how young is rather shocking. If only the cruel god had not granted some of us the painful ability to feel our own death grow closer.
Perhaps it is better to succumb to terror than to attempt to achieve happiness here. Before I was living simply because I had nothing to die for. Now I fear that I will bring about my own death in order to save myself from the agony that my continued survival brings down upon me.

"If only my heart had a home..."