Every time that I gain a grain of hope to my endless hourglass, drops of blood fall to the bottom. The blood is outweighing the sand, these days, and I'm afraid the few precious grains will be lost in the mix. When I find hope... peace... contentment, those that call themselves my friends and allies seek to unwittingly take it away. Simple comments. Little things. But the little things are the ones that dig under your skin like a metal sliver, inching its way into your blood stream, leaving a trail of infection and gangrene until it reaches your heart, embedding itself in the molten flesh as the path of darkness follows in its wake.
I'm not sure how much more I can take before my hourglass is full of liquid life.
I'm not sure if I can recapture my precious grains of sand and lock them away, protecting them from the pain and suffering that I experience every aching moment of my life.