Knowing the delicate nature of being,
Knowing how quick it all can turn to ashes,
Knowing how fragile a praised and perfect life can be…
…is not power.
It is endless pain and crying…
It means becoming utterly vain.
Renders all that once I wanted to a dead and hollow wasteland.
It turns light into darkness. Silent and painfully empty darkness. So that I know I never possessed anything.
I am floating in an aching void. No one will hear my screams.