Thoughts during the trudge

Within the darkness, I trudged through
Passing by trees, trees that in winter grew
Crackling through my ears, the sound of leaves,
I trudge on through as everyone leaves
Never to turn around, I’ll get lost delightedly-
With every slash on my wrist still bleeding
For I shall never forget, so let me stay flighty.
Let me disregard the lake that may be here
It shall be no boon to me I unfortunately fear.
A prisoner of seasons has no use for deaf ears,
To be heard by a pair is unhelpful, my dear,
I need no consolation prize: a prison-
I know the lake’s water is a collection of tears,
I shall not be fooled by the mist that covers it.
Ignorance or not, I shall consider it be wit.
And my hands, they have never been held by another.
They’re stained in crimson and increasing wear,
A youthful soul’s is to compare with that of the eld.
And as I catch my breath I hold on to paranoia.
Melancholy be the ambiance betwixt the flora,
I look ahead, there, I see a man, he’s leading
He wears a black robe, he seems misleading
But he shall be my friend, my only guide