Frozen

It's not unusual for my sadness to be mistaken for anger
That's how my channels prepare warmth to be frozen

Going back and forth, without ever advancing
Taken back to the start, like waves washing the shore

Every time, a little more is drowned, another piece lost
Until what's left is just a sullen, empty reminder

The vessel filling with cold water
And tides that may not crash back home

Will now not wash away the notion:
There cannot be disillusion when there is no illusion to start with.