Oh how my hopes are wasted with
The setting of the sun.
As the sky inhales its sapphire light,
So my tumult has begun.

Then how my Lady Somnolence
Comes to hold my shattered hand.
I will not hear the Spartan’s fife,
As I fall asleep tonight

The haunting, pale deluminess,
 The eye of Cronos wanders
Through a stoic, abeyant void.
Psyche’s wicked promenade.

The silence holds not sanity,
Just a concave minded wretch.
Yet, quiescence is a comfort
To a forlorn derelict.

Specters dance on withered fences
While hindsight draws me hither,
For only there can I see my shattered
Hand, betwixt with moonlight braids.

The wolfen joint betrays its breath,
Elemental edge employed.
Palpitating marbled chamber dies,
The one that hides behind my mind.

The bleeding heart of misery,
Will be still forever more.
Within the twilight garden grim,
The petals of crimson sway.

Learn all the ways there are to die,
Rumination of the act.
Await the tears to call me home
Lamentations in the dark.

My mind is like my sorrows now,
I will never dream again.
A glimpse of what I used to be,
Makes it so hard to let go.

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