Tell me in which disillusioned state
could I've felt so low and desperate to churn
the waves of my troubles
like adding liquor to a flame, hoping for
something sweeter.

Nonetheless all still burning, withering
perplexed, shocked colors, bruises held
a personal lake of fire
Wilting, trying to hold on,
of wanton faith in unconditional surrender

My heart, resonating the troubles from my soul
from neglect through and through
had I realized in its absence
was the duty to myself.

Heavy of holding mirrors that pointed towards your the sun,
I sat still beneath its encoffined shadow.

This must be the lingering breaths of an eclipsed moon.