Dreams and aspirations: beautiful words of which I should not speak. Flooded with disillusion, my heart aches for the reality I created in thoughts fed by wise trees and bustling life.
I am drowning in a constant wave of sadness. It grows and grows and has eaten away at any positive balance that had restored in my anti-climactic confusion.
I will drink from the water that has crystal moons quivering in its depths.
I will scramble to find my soul in the caves where bats are tranquil in their slumber.
I will continue to send my eyes to the heavens and allow a small sense of contentment even if the rain falls heavy.
I will ignore the forked tongues and create my own antidote to poison sent through my veins.
I will grow into myself and my searching will one day come to an end.
This is a warning to myself.
I will not hurt for the wicked, nor will I hope for the hopeless.
I will instead find a path that spells my own name in its twists and turns and I will come to see the light between the canopy of my dampened forest.