A Desert with no Sun

Why am I helping,

my enemies.

Maybe it’s because,

that after all,

I'm an enemy to me too.

I'm going worse,

thinking sore,

seeing black and no shadows,

while talking about light.

What it was;

what am I,

hurricane in my demise,

what to fell or call up to,

after all,

I don't even know.

A mute scream of help,

a help for what I know,

a help that can be in no form.

What will be next,

I no more, even know.

I am sorrow,

I feel all,

all missing pieces,

even worse,

than a desert,

with no sun.