All Is But Futile Poem by Shahista swellam

Through the darkness I moved,  
sensing emptiness embodied in vague gloom
Nothing is what it seems or near to what is true,  
All is but a shattered memory of what i used to be.

Angry, and why should I not be?
All is but a horrifying manifestation of what I need not heal.
Desrie is over whelming, breeding on the inside of me 
All is but a lie of a hurting truth so much
Manupilated and distorted endlessly 

Now craving, longing and bruising with anguish
Seem all what is left to withhold 
All is but a scrap bruising, a scar inside
And onto my side

Questions so deep seem now useless and small
'All is but a shadow'
Bewildering a settled state of anesthetized nonentity

Nil is what it is to be in me 
No need to rescue, no need for revival
All is but in vain.

Numbered in infinity as the bondage of hate or betray 
As stars cant cry when all thier light is blown away
All is numbered in stains
Stains of futility 

ALL IS BUT FUTILE