How can doing so much,
mean so little?
Learning how to be played like a fiddle.

Pity the spite that is shown to Kindness as bitterness replaces the tender heart which once shared its kindling naively believing in kindred spirits.

Without fuel left for the fire,
there is no light, no heat, no hope, no heart.

Grinding bones together to light a spark just to see if there's been a change in the abysmal depths.

Aware of Despair, questioning Faith, wondering if Love demands first the Death of one's Self,
before it ever considers an intrinsic value more worthy than a Lust or an Envy.