The poisoned soul, tainted-- victim of its owner's own hand. Twisted; tight and coiling as a filth soaked rag; contentment, elation's enchantment, wrung like water clouded the filth of grey-- cast from the fibres' binding binding life to purpose. Worthless.
Popping pills to cure an invisible ailment. Smartphones, gems, unhumble hovels, ineloquent words impotent to wash the essence sickness-- treating symptom rather circumstance. Jailing the spirit in sedation's purchased trance.
The cure found not in possessions procurement but by moments in time too brief. A loving embrace, the hand of a child, smiles and laughter-- relief to soothe the poisoned soul poisoned by sadness.