In the labyrinth of language, they persistently jest, Unmoved, I stand, with a fury that's confessed. Some mutter, "You're too fierce, too untamed to bear," Envy's whisper guides their tongues, longing for what we wear. Beneath a sky ablaze with crimson hue, where azure fades to pink, My parched soul rebels, cursed by libations void of mystique's brink. No vintage of truth in these elixirs, they merely wink, Yet amidst the chaos, I refuse to shrink.