Smoking at the mirror, sulking in a brittle rage,
One so strong, that it easily turns the page.
Without even blinking, I spit powerful words,
Cutting at my ethereal flesh like swords,

Hoping however, I will never run out of mettle,
Hoping the cuts will petrify, letting them settle,
As a great red crack in the skin, for me to wonder
If my swords have risen only from a simple blunder.

My consternation renders me catatonic,
Only the clash of fingers on the keyboard makes me tonic…
While her, she brings me to the doors of Heaven,
From where we drown the world under in a sweet Armageddon.