''It is a law of nature that a dream carried far too long inside you must, eventually, begin to rot.''

Patience

Buried are my bruises, that shine in your reflection.

A heap of mess, decaying in on itself, once shone; beaming in light, now hides shamelessly in nothingness.

Unscented, unscathed, untouched by man's hand, but yet to his eye remains, completely mislaid.