Resent

At once you seem perfect and flawless and contrary to every worldly thing, but you make wind feel like fire, surrounding and burning but never consuming. I'm wretched and fallen and lay melting at your feet, suffocating and reaching for your hand. Eventually I dissolve into the dirt beneath me and decay with the others fortunate enough to have lived this long. I wonder when you'll die, how and why. I think we'll share a fate of endless gloom and self-loathing. Hope is a trick of the devil.