Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

In this life I only saw emptiness

Such emptiness that swallowed



Me. Whole.


Even when I looked into a void

It resounded with the truth, behold!


Life cannot imitate the void,

For it is emptier as it unfolds.

stores are running deficit
provisions unreplenished
ovens seeing less of flames
you're writing love poems!

cobwebs in the rooms dance
future in shambles unplanned
caught in lunatic trance
you're writing romance!

dirt is marking the wall
worries bursting the skull
expenses shaking nerve
you're busy writing love!

no bother no future plan
quickly dwindling ration
drowned in dense emotion
you're pouring passion!

I have died.
I have finally surrendered.
It's over.
My soul has been rendered.

Now all I see is dark,
But there is no pain.
It's empty and black,
Depression reigns.

A shell is all that's left,
There's only death inside.
I've cracked.
There's no need to hide.

I feel no fear now.
It's not like anything could hurt.
I'm dead.
This you cannot try to avert.

When this shell will crack,
They'll say I died of suicide.
But that's a pathetic lie,
Because I've been dead long inside.

It's dark and quiet.
It won't go on for much too long.
Suicide will be fun.
Doing it at this point is not wrong.

I have given up.
I say it with no emotion.
This pleasant darkness,
Dims the previous commotion.

It's completely silent.
No more chaos inside.
I like this darkness.
I have died.

Love, if I weep it will not matter,
  And if you laugh I shall not care;
Foolish am I to think about it,
  But it is good to feel you there.

Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,—
  White and awful the moonlight reached
Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,
  There was a shutter loose,—it screeched!

Swung in the wind,—and no wind blowing!—
  I was afraid, and turned to you,
Put out my hand to you for comfort,—
  And you were gone!  Cold, cold as dew,

Under my hand the moonlight lay!
  Love, if you laugh I shall not care,
But if I weep it will not matter,—
  Ah, it is good to feel you there!

If some day
I should pass you
clothed in shades
of pale pastel

all I ask
is turn your face
from my failing
sense of taste...