but there's an ironic juxtaposition that comes with being human.
a necessary balance.
there is no room for weakness.
if you're weak, you're useless.
if you're strong, you're arrogant.
so you have to wilt, but just enough so no one notices.
so drink your herbs to help you close your eyes to tame the demons who shake your mind with their dervish jives.
dry your tears with tissues made of wire, so that way scars will etch themselves into you, reminding you of your weakness.
let the tears sear tracks onto your cheeks that were once pinched by an innocent teasing voice.
wilt, drink, dry.
