The everlasting night

Cold fingers clasp for nothing.
My heart echoes from a whisper of hope.
The wet upon my forehead tickles and mocks the contours of my face.

I reach again but my heart withdraws.
I hope once more but my hands lose form.

I've lost too many fights - I think I've lost the fighter too.
I've been battered; beaten by the shadow that attempts my figure.
Perhaps I am a fighter
Perhaps I am my shadow
For all I can achieve is to fight my soul and flee.

What can a fighter gain with a defeated soul ?
What can my heart achieve with a leaking hole ?

-I hold my pillow tight
And dread the everlasting night.