sloth ('sloth, 'släth also 'slOth)

Stagnant and corrupt, Sloth might once have had a purpose, but it has begun to decripify from years of inactivity and uselessness. It never creates anything of note, never contributes to anything on a personal or societal level, never grows or feels any desire to. It seems to exist for the sake of existing, bereft of any ambition or drive. Blind to the unwholesome effects of its life of inactivity, it cares about nothing, does nothing, says nothing, and touches nobody. It wanders through life, purposeless and empty.

Once lovely beyond compare, Sloth has begun to crumble and decay over time. Like a statue of ancient Greece, its arms have wilted and cracked off at the shoulders. Having never bothered to articulate herself, its lips have withered away over time. Its muscles have atrophied over time, and its stride is like the stumbling gait of a newborn foal. It wanders, destinationless and without purpose, meandering along without changing or noticing anything.

When we stumble through our daily routine, not daring or caring to reach for greater heights or touch those around us, Sloth begins to grow. Our lives slip by us, time inexorably withering our bodies and minds, and Sloth lulls us into complacency. It keeps us silent and uncaring, beautiful in our own minds as the world rushes around us, until we eventually crumble into dust and regret.