In the chamber of my heart burns a fire — without light, without warmth. I drank from the glass of desperation, poisoned with a fleeting dream. I begged you to anchor my sorrow with gentleness, But mercy never lingered in your embrace. Now each prayer unravels what little thread I cling to — draining my desire, my passion, my flame. **Still I dream. Still I yearn — Not of love, But for a gentle hand.**