Petroglyphs on My Soul

So frigid that spit freezes before it hits cement,
So bleakly brisk and barren frozen far from worlds of warm content,
Where is that light I used to see?
Where is flaming elation?
This beacon used to beckon me and guide my concentration.
Now I'm left out in the dark,
A meal for famished stars,
Devoured by a darkness that cannot digest my scars,
Too long longing for purpose,
My heart is solid frozen,
At least now I'm free from that piercing sick emotion,
Too heavy for my chest,
Into my soul it falls,
Then tears it widely open as it scratches all the walls,
On one reads an engraving,
So clear and plainly etched:
"Never come true rest till tasting warm nectar of death."
Just below is scribed,
Like petroglyphic art,
Still even deeper carved,
Signed: Jordin Hartley's heart.

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