This feeling, this sensation which erodes the walls that guard my core.
This unexplained phenomenon that gives me cause to yearn for more.
The fickle weight beneath my breast of fluctuating loss and gain,
An ever-tempting fluttering that tickles with a gnawing pain.
The constant push and pull upon me, closing in from either side.
The distant hope, so long forgotten, for which I once each evening cried.
The humble power that imbues me—raw and ever-present force.
The wave that sweeps me off my feet and leaves me bitter with remorse.
By night; a hollow, broken sell, worn and weary of the war.
By day; a desperate fool of false hopes, heart aching from wounds it bore.
The passion of the silent struggle, with memory: success's bane.
With dreams to some day both remember, despite how still it's yet to change.
