Purgatorial Cycle

I had a good thing going.
Not for the first time
my endeavours yielded fruit.
In my worn-down chest hope was growing.
Though, of course, reality caught up with me.
A cycle, ever repeating itself.
Everything is falling apart again.
Hope just hurts so once again I flee.
After all this time my wish becomes clearer.
Some of these words will remain unspoken.
Like, can that purgatorial cycle ever be broken?
Or, why can’t I even feel my own fear?