The weight at which I stand cracks my limbs;

It crushes;

It penetrates;

It reverberates through.

It cannot be seen, it cannot be heard, it cannot be known,

Because the weight at which I stand is a burden of my own hatred.

It is a hatred of myself; a poison to my joy; a deflector of aid.

The delicate foundation of support waivers, but never fails.

Yet, still, the weight at which I stand creates a fountain of emptiness, and knows ceaseless bounds.