We are nothing but ashes sometimes.

Pain corrodes human like how acid corrodes infrastructures. We weaken with each striking blow, and how many times can we say that we came back stronger before we finally end up in defeat, surrendering? How can we ever rise above the horizons if we are weighed with such agony and anchored by such fear?

Hollowed out
Porcelain white bones
Empty souls

We are weak
I am weak