Afraid, and restless.
Cold as a stone, looking for courage underneath a facsimile.
Blind and tortured,
A feeling so ineffable,
A courage so paradoxical.

With a sliver of hope I stumble forward.
Emotions, damp and turgid.
The mournful yappings of weakness.
The good ol’ potent self doubt.

Young girl, violins,
White horses run.
A rune with your name on it,
Living at the bottom of a wishing well.