Quietly sitting beside a dying fire,
hands outstretched, waiting for warmth
that never fully comes.
You tell yourself it's fine,
even fading heat is better than the cold.

But is it enough?
The flickering embers,
the half-light that barely holds back the night.
It is better than the risk of ashes,
better than watching it all burn away.

So you stay.
You stir the coals,
feed it what little you have left,
collecting the smallest sparks,
as if they might one day catch flame.

But they never do.
And deep down, you know they won’t.
The fire dims, shrinking into embers,
glowing softly but offering nothing,
leaving only smoke and the weight of the chill.

And maybe it’s too late.
Maybe one day, the fire will vanish completely,
a hollow space where warmth once lived.
Or maybe—just maybe—
you’ll walk away before the cold takes you too.

Things are bad and getting worse
And what's worse
Is this stagnant curse
One maybe set from birth
But who knows
All I know
Is it can't lead to the back of a hearse
First things first
And for what is worth
I need to find my worth
But while searching for said worth
I find myself dying of thirst
Realizing life can't be reversed
Opportunity dispersed
I have to accept the empty
Path I've traversed
And acknowledge the wasted good karma
Will never be reimbursed

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