I am holding something,
this thing inside my hands:
It's soft, it's molded,
and it's melting
like little grains of sand
Struck by lightning
and turned into glass

Happiness blazes but
it never can last

It breaks so easily
so, fragile, so pure
with the slightest tink
its fate is ensured

Carrying it ever so carefully
as if it were gold,

Love: a golden love so pure
That my hands,
my tainted hands would surely
stain its beautiful luster

I try to keep it in my palms,
but the liquid just seeps through
It seems to have a consciousness
and I feel its feelings, its pain,
its gloom

I'm trying not to hurt it
as it hisses and burns
my hands

Scalding them as the liquid
screams in terror
that it has been altered,
tainted, unpurified

It hisses that I'm burning it
as it burns me in return
We understand each other's pain
but rendering assistance
is just too much to take

The blisters on my hands
The mangled skin,
the tears
hissing as they fall into
the molten, golden liquid
turning it a dark shade of
blue:now a puddle on the floor