Dear Stagnation,

It has been months on end since I have longed to be needed.

I now have a pit in my stomach that aches to burn holes and cause ruptures.

When I weep, it is but a pity reminder that just and fond are not cordial.

We whimper and whine while we wine and whimper, but no longer shall I sit in silence while creeping towards the goodnight awaiting us all.

There is no more to live than to die for and we shall be shown in confidence once more as our bellies rumble and our minds are filled.