I lost. I found.

 These hands grow tired,
Numb from the loss.
I can't feel the warmth,
Radiating and glowing,
These fingers paralyze in motion.

Cold from the privation,
Can you hear this heart beating?
Do you hide your justification;
Or is it out of spiting?

Dull orbs hide behind a hoodie,
As the crows of laughter elevate,
And the picking,
The prodding, begins to bloody.  

Red colors the grass with humor,
Flooding the creatures below,
Every crevice,
Every nook, filled with silent cries.
Yet they couldn't compare.
The muted stars wept,
Echoing with a sorrowful fear.
They carried my raw pain on shaking shoulders.

I lost the passion,
But I found the reason.
These deaden limbs are still mine,
Watch as they tint pink.
I hold a certain light in these orbs,
Peeking and unsure,
But I don't stand alone.