Trickle down, broken crown. Broken hope that was placed so high. How beautifully that hope dies as it is shattered by itself. Raining pieces of harsh reality upon my head. I shower in my failure constantly and gasp for some relief. Leaning upon life’s knife till my back is cut with reason. I would sigh with content from the knowledge of racing blood upon that blade. Blessed relief found, even if understanding is lost.