Knowing the delicate nature of being, Knowing how quick it all can turn to ashes, Knowing how fragile a praised and perfect life can be... ...is not power. It is endless pain and crying... It means becoming utterly vain. Renders all that once I wanted to a dead and hollow wasteland. It turns light into darkness. Silent and painfully empty darkness. So that I know I never possessed anything. I am floating in an aching void. No one will hear my screams.