I am the Prince of sorrow,
     My kingdom, Melancholia.
Anxiety is my scepter,
     Seclusion is my throne.
My emotions are a candle’s wick,
     Fetters burning in the flame.

All that believed in once,
     I cannot believe in now.
Your words of halitosis,
     Have diseased my fragile mind.
My trust once ran so deeply,
     Now it is dead upon the shore.

You cannot understand my worthlessness,
     Or its irritations on my soul.
I remember the way I used to feel,
     Though I cannot remember how.
Now, I will never be the shining one,
     Just a misanthropic hull.

My poet breaks; I am not one,
     To transcend the here and why.
Hope was lifted from my grasp,
     And offered to a nightingale’s wing.
Clouds are gathered overhead,
     My tears, a silent anthem for the storm.

Rain beats down upon my face,
     The elegy of my kingdom.
My ears are deafened to your words,
     Your lightning, witless tongue.
And all that believed in once,
     I cannot believe in now.

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