The heart aches.
It squirms and pains and weeps.
Begging for mercy and drenched in the blood of diffidence, stuttering and faltering over its path to placebo contentment.
The reflection of its own depreciation cast on the apathetic world, it wounds for the truth but misses it just the same.
It owes not an inkling to the world or its antipathetic, but it bows down in surrender; daunted and clueless, juvenile in its stance yet self-aware beyond the conventional.
Unassuming and gullible, excruciated and...