They point to your heart…
as if it were the most wasteland…
as if it were empty…
when it’s only broken,
shattered by pride and fate…

They speak about your pain…
presuming it vain and devoid,
of any symptom or reason,
of any cause or folly…

They imply that you are cold,
that you shudder meaningless,
that you have lost the north,
that you don’t find the path…

We are all children of the gloomy,
of boredom and bravery…

We are all sinners,
although some only see…
others…