Knowledge of never knowing the
Creations you wish for is the true tragedy of living.
Forcing upon yourself meaningless strains only to
Progress further mentally--while still met stationary.

Never able to express truthfully to your closest lips,
For banishment will be certain from their hearts.
Explanations forged insanity with an ax through reasoning.

Left with a cavern, rotting from the dripping wells
That harvest its liquid--refreshed through your
Remaining operational desires.

Blood on your hands racing down from
Wrists pledged fully to love.

Dreams of your future never awoken from--yet fulfilled.