She came in
Like the Mongolian horsemen
With little or no regards for
The condition of my heart.
Her far-reaching love pillaged
Every corner of me, quieting
My songs:
My happiness blurring into grief.
Now I know she was right,
Now I know I can trust her,
She always knows what’s best.
A bleeding heart is a small price
To pay for such an amazing love;
She watches me, I’ve buried
My emotions so deep they’ll
Never meet her gaze.
I am dizzying and spiraling
Into the insensitive grasp
Of her eyes, my sensitivity
Taking me places I never thought I’d be. Everywhere you find me
You find not me but harlequins
Grotesquely painted to hide my pain.

I do not know where I am going
But I do believe I am going to crash.

O that 'twere possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!...

A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee:
Ah, Christ! that it were possible
For one short hour to see
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be!

You stepped
Deep into
  The waters
   Of my soul

Patiently you searched
For the precious
     Stone

You found it
Warmed it
  Caressed it
And gave it
  To me
Unselfishly
  As a gift

And now
  It is ours
    And we call it
        Love

Beyond Siberia again Siberia,
beyond impenetrable forest again forest.
And beyond it waste ground,
where a blizzard of snow breaks loose.

The blizzard has handcuffs, and the snow-
storm has a knife which kills at once....
I will die, pay a debt
for others who live somewhere,

out of spite, out of fear and terror,
out of pain, out of a nameless grave....
Beyond the wall another wall,
on the wall stopped dead one sentinel.

Musings of a Police Reporter in the Identification Bureau

You have loved forty women, but you have only one thumb.
You have led a hundred secret lives, but you mark only
     one thumb.
You go round the world and fight in a thousand wars and
     win all the world's honors, but when you come back
     home the print of the one thumb your mother gave
     you is the same print of thumb you had in the old
     home when your mother kissed you and said good-by.
Out of the whirling womb of time come millions of men
and their feet crowd the earth and they cut one anothers'
     throats for room to stand and among them all
     are not two thumbs alike.
Somewhere is a Great God of Thumbs who can tell the
     inside story of this.

Why am I chained down by my suffering and misery?
Please, can someone set me free?  
Can you send me to my eternal resting place?
To be free from my suffering.
It’s alright, no one will miss me.
I’m all alone.
Won’t you send me to the depth of the underworld?
It’s dead on the inside, I’m just a walking corpse.  

I want to escape this world to the eternal darkness.
Give me a reason to live.
Give me a reason to be happy.
What is the point in smiling if it is a lie?
Why do I need to pretend that everything is going to be okay?
That only causes more pain.

I’m lying not only to myself but to everyone around me by creating a fake facade so I can feel whole again.  
The need to fill that empty void living in my heart is growing more and more as time goes on.
I can feel the chains burning as I’m held by my misery.
The longing to be free, to be able to feel the warmth of the sun hit my face.
I’m stuck…
Stuck between trying to live my life, and trying to run from it.
Why should I stay positive when it feels like my life is falling apart?

These are my chain of misery.
Forever shackling me to this pain.