Go It Alone. Grey. Zeneszám

Turning bitter. Turning away. Away from what I once believed. Diluted by the years, my black and whites have run together into an indifferent shade of grey. I'm turning cold and I'm talking to myself again. Asking questions that just hang like warm breath in the air: What's the use in fighting losing battles when its so much safer to succumb? Is there honor in beating my head against a wall that just won't budge? I'm turning cold and I can feel myself giving in one inch at a time. How long until it measures up to the measure of myself? Small concessions made over time can add up to complete surrender. So I have to find a way to swim against this current, a way to hold on. I'm trying to hold on. But sometimes it feels like I'm running a race I'm destined to lose. Fixated on a statement that I don't want to believe is true