At the bottom of yours,
I look to see conceit,
While lurking there instead
I see complete defeat,
Within confining doors,
The wrong I recognize,
The wound that I have bled,
With which I sympathize,

Yet, from the depths of mine,
I fear that you will see
A fragile fervor marred
With vulnerability,
So I suppress all sign
Of tendering relief
Until my spirit scarred
Advises I concede.