Wrong, Wrong, Wrong

A butterfly becomes a pest. A flower turns into weed. A kind gesture turns into a test. Every scratch tends to bleed... Could this be fair? As my story looks dark and desperate. A surprising Typhoon, turning all hopes into despair. My lifeless being equals less than moderate. Destruction seems the only hope, I declare. Beauty changes to death. The darkness I have to tolerate. The Sun scorching too hot. The wind makes everything fall in disarray. Luck has ran out, its vitality to a stop. Leaving me in dismay... This drowning gesture has numb me of my senses. Care and concern could not penetrate my skin. My ears are impaired and my sight sees blackness. My rigid tongue, dry from quenching nothing. Odours of death and rots pulling me down as it enters. Trapping me within the void and all is dimmed. Anxiety keeps my breath bitter. Doubts keep my inaction vigour. Comfort. An elusive figure. As the inner sound of ego gets fitter... My Heart encapsulated in an iceberg too thick to cave. My Mind straying, falling into an abyss of failures. My Soul has embraced fear and been remotely brave. Trapped in the walls of the pessimistic traitor. Inadequate prayers to a losing faith. As answers only shows an insidious behaviour. None is right while I am false. Wrong in the resolution of truth and hope. Perhaps from the ablution of lost, I will be right in the hopefulness of the rope...