The night grew dark and fog surrounded me,
I couldn't run or flee.
Unsure if I'm imaginary or real anymore,
at this point I don't think my soul can restore.
Long days and eternal nights continue forever.

Destitute and poor.
And yet in my mind there is grandeur,
it seems I can help the world...
but I can't help myself with a destiny that is whorled.
I am not whole and I am not invisible just in between.

Like a ghost I have no place and no purpose,
passing time in an endless journey that's worthless.
I love and despise pain
because I am profane.
*Too ashamed to live and yet too proud to die.