Best Served Cold

This is it. That moment you have waited for Your whole life! So why is it joy you feign? And tears you shyly wipe clear, From your eyes? Is it not glorious? As fulfilling, As perfect as you dreamed? Still, you rue the day, Hour and minute, When you set yourself on this path. When you chose to take it upon yourself; That you, You would suffer unto they who wronged you! Woe be in that day's every Dying breath of sunlight pink! For surely success is in your hands... And in your eyes you take in This stretch of sorry, Wrought solely by you. And you writhe within. No victory cry springs to your lips. No satisfactory sigh Wracks through you in tender release. No single thought stays lodged In your solitary state! This is it. And what purpose have you now?